write about sarah ...
why I write again sickened by the carnage
that runs on all television and newspapers .. ..
there is a horror comedy that seems fake
and instead is terribly true ...
still circling vultures dressed as journalists
around the place of the sad story ...
will attend ballet repulsive between advocates of opposing parties
that just to have the spotlight would be willing to do anything ...
and again alleged experts and criminologists
who every day a different version of the facts,
unless it is denied then the reality of events ....
rise to all judges, lacking the dwarfs and dancers
and then the circus is in full ...
ah ... I forgot the last generation of decerebration,
what are called tourists
you make souvenir photo in front of the scene of the crime ....
poor Sarah .... poor little kitten of a woman ...
where you are now, if you have the chance to see all this,
well, forgive us all ... ...
forgive this world "adult" to whom you you look out smiling
as always, and which in reality is an open sewer ....
I wonder what you thought when crying and scared,
ask your captors to come back from your mom,
not feeling the slightest drama
that was about to break down on you ...
and what you thought when a murderous hand
tightened a noose around your slender neck,
breathing and depriving them of the basic right to a child,
to cry ....
and again, that will hear your spirit,
hands dirty when you thrown into a pit
water in the dark and cold ....
imagine your astonishment, innocent girl
still too immature to call you woman ...
and your questions ... "So this is the adult world ?..."...
where is God in these moments?
've always said that people's hearts,
is sometimes an unfathomable abyss of horror ....
I speak as a man, like father ...
with a boulder that presses on the heart ....
pain is a plant that grows green and lush,
why more watered by copious tears ...
poor little puppy poor woman ... Sarah ....
Carlo Caravagna
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