Number of posts : 734
Age : 38
Country and city : Italy, Rome
Laziale since : I was born
Registration date : 2008-05-26
|Subject: Old Guard Fri Mar 12, 2010 2:31 am|| |
Old Guard. Those raised on bread and nettle, those who slapped the wind, one against ten. Those who laughed in the death’s face. Laziali, because living hurts us more and more each day. Because when we look around us everything disgusts us, because everything is low and vile, and nothing is worthy of the sky that dresses us. We are the Gods that laugh at the fools, we are crazy drunks in a world of amazed sobers. We are the strength inside. We are the perfect shade, the brightest variation.
Old Guard. Those who recognize the golden recall of the battle. Those who saw the blood on that jersey, those who growled at God when the destiny took away from them a grain of their soul. Those who chased her, white and skyblue, in her low flights around hell, San Benedetto, Cava dei Tirreni, Catanzaro, Campobasso. Old Guard, who could not digest honey because your stomach knew only how to digest stones. Who weep for joy when we win, and laugh for pain when we lose. Who shivered silent before an ocean of flags in 1974, before faces old like childhood memories, before faded eyes, before the paradise you belong.
Old Guard, who today look at your sons waving scared for something they have never lived before. The sound of the horns pushing them on the battlefield. The war there, so close. The fear that makes their rifle tremble in their hands, like a wounded bird. Old Guard. Your hands are solid, and your rifle is steady, straight like a comet. Old Guard, I count on you now. This is the moment to make war. This is the moment to stand up, steady against the sun. Laziali! It’s worth to tell… twenty years from now… about when they wanted us dead but they found an ocean of men still alive, with white staring eyes, cold brow, and burning heart. “The wind rises!... We must try to live!” (Paul Valéry)
[translated from Laziocity, written by Andrea]