Appian Way

Glimpse of the Via Appia Antica in Rome

The steps
Of the people of Appian Way
Crawl slowly.

The crimson air is still awake:
It almost seems to be reinvigorated
With the deception of a crumbling autumn,
deflowered without mercy
On a ragged St. Lawrence night.

Yet it is already December,
And people keep dragging
Among the streetlights on Appian Way.

The cashier of the coffee shop
Addresses greetings of indifferent courtesy:
” How can I help you? ”
At the entrance of a likely patron.
” See you soon! “,
While these,
fulfilled for nothing,
returns diaphanously to the crowd.
Crystal words with “Fragile” written upon them,
In uncertain dusk without flocks:
(Already taken off,
Even before the dawn,
For a new sojourn among nonexistent clouds).

Tonight, however,
hesitations never tamed blaze,
suspended,
distractedly,
In the red-hot claws of the fog (which usually thins out in the dark).

And more than the cold excerpts of memories,
That in the closet,
prisoners of summer,
the naïve half-teens,
Sprout among effluvia of burnt arabica,
They regain turgidity,
this evening,
after being deleted in fury, (too much fury),
With brushstrokes of pale whiteness.

A torrent insinuates its tongue
Beyond the bars of the aviary:
it gaps clinging,
it twists and turns,
And it suddenly overflows
From the doors of a department store.

Further afield,
In the black silk handkerchief,
lying
Among the yellow jasmine flowerbed
And the torn pole of a billboard,
caricatures of a Slavic portrait painter,
quietly repaint themselves,
(with calm deference and shyness),
Of crazy,
unnatural
humanity.

Yet it is now December,
And people keep dragging
Among the tarnished lights of Appian Way.

If the rain swirled between the manholes,
And if the wind would extinguish every lighter,
perhaps each step would make sense.
But today, we say goodbye without gloves,
And the coldest ones,
readjusting their coat,
Don’t even hide
The rickety Windsor at the tie.

Even the adipose beggar,
Abandoned behind a bar table,
Is no longer pretending to rattle the floppy breast.
Occasionally, she even stood up:
(Perhaps he was in the grip of amnesia…)
But she quickly turned back,
And crinkling her unnecessarily myopic eyes,
Has again fallen back on the lemon crate.
” A few pennies always come in handy…. ”
she thought to herself (both unknown),
stretching out the palm like a monstrance
To feel the friendly pats of the rain.

A couple hold each other by the hand.
She laps a naive compassion:
She knows that everything will end,
as she loves a salesman madly.
She saw him a month ago,
In the boutique where there is always room…
(…only for selected clients, of course).
” I should have asked for his number!
Yes, I really should have done that… “,
She whispers without realizing it,
While savoring the recurring eternity
Of an Art Nouveau-style green bonnet.
But the air on the streets isn’t frosty
Enough to freeze.
It’s too hot this December
So that the fruits still hanging
May freeze in the dignity of the few living branches.

Suspended like cardboard boats,
Two girls red in the face from haste,
Pull up to a jewelry display case.
” Aren’t those earrings really minimal? “,
the younger (or so it seems) asks,
Pointing at them with his finger.
But the friend only pretends to listen to her,
she seems motionless,
Shuns an infinity with the inverted price.
She is enraptured by a brilliant at the top of a ring:
” Don’t you remember? ”
whispers to her,
” Yesterday, the forecast called for rain all day! ”

A child tugs at his mother’s skirt
And pulls her toward a small pet store.
It is his last hope,
He knows it well:
” Will you buy me that little dog for Christmas? “,
He whispers to her, barely smiling.
But he has already grown by a few years
While, from a distance,
someone intones hoarsely
“From Starry Skies Thou Comest.”

The mother calls him back:
” No dogs for Christmas! “.
(At most, the red bicycle
that fits so well between the doorframe and the wall).
The time of tantrums falls silent,
while “From Starry Skies Thou Comest”
Dissolves its hubbub into the wails of a newborn baby.
” Come one! Sing the little song, too! ”
heedlessly, the woman incites him.
But the chords,
also disillusioned,
Fray like unraveled garments.
And the little one,
Now,
With red cheeks and sparkling eyes,
No longer doubts even as he sleeps,
That no gift from the three Magi,
(not even by mistake),
Would ever make a child smile.

It’s hot this year,
close to Christmas;
And the lights,
just blazing,
brighten,
Who knows,
the steady steps
Of the people of Appian Way.


Deposited for legal protection with Patamu: certificate


Some information about the Appian Way in Rome

The Via Appia, the Appian Way in English, is one of the oldest and most important Roman roads. It was built in 312 BC and connected Rome to Brindisi in southeastern Italy, serving as a vital commercial and military route. However, the Appian Way also played a significant role in transporting goods and troops, contributing to the expansion of the Roman Empire.

Via Appia in Rome, part of the original Via Appia retains much of its charm and historical significance. Lined with ancient ruins, grand villas, and catacombs, the Appian Way combines ancient and modern elements.

Glimpse of the Via Appia Antica, with some Roman ruins
A glimpse of the Via Appia Antica in Rome. The thoroughfare, built in 312 B.C., is now flanked by the Via Appia Nuova. This wide road begins at Piazza San Giovanni in Laterano and descends toward southern Rome, parallel to the Via Tuscolana. Since this is a very populated area of Rome, there are many businesses and heavy foot traffic on Via Appia, particularly during the holidays.

One of the most notable features of this road is the Appia Antica Regional Park, a vast green area that preserves the region’s natural beauty and historical heritage.

Visitors can explore the rich history of the Appian Way by walking or biking along its cobblestone paths, admiring ancient monuments and picturesque landscapes. With its history, culture, and natural beauty mix, Via Appia remains a must-see destination for history buffs and travelers alike.


If you like this poem, you can always donate to support my activity! One coffee is enough!


Share this post on:
FacebookTwitterPinterestEmail

Subscribe to the weekly newsletter!

You will only be updated about new content. No spam, no adv!