After a landing.
The first minutes on European land.
Strong arms.
The heat widens the veins showing all the vigorosity, Like the armor with the muscles of the antiquity fighter.
Deep and intense eyes.
They have the color of the sea in full sun. And that lips, As designed by a very thin brush and a coached hand.
Where it will be betrayed those eyes? Which arms will interrupt the shine? When it is that hope will be definitively broken?
Will be during the medical examination? During the interview that will demonstrate that it will have to be repatriated? When, despite being entitled to political kindergarten, not being able to survive with the subsidy that is consumed by the structure and will prefer to go to slave in the fields? When after years of sacrifices in Italy he will venture to Germany under a truck and on the border he will be discovered by the German police and sent back to Italy?
When, Tell me when… there I wish there was a god, a guardian angel, someone like the one that made him cross the Sahara and the Mediterranean.
I tell you: “courage brother!”
