Marina Eugenie di Cervini
Follow your heart
I WANT TO BE MYSELF
“The wind along the coast speaks not to our ears but to the quiet places within, calling us to remember who we are. Walking along the Amalfi Coast, I felt the breeze call me. It wasn’t the wind or the sea – it was something from within, asking me to be true to myself.”
I want to be myself, unbound,
Not another’s shadow found.
A wind that dances on ocean streams,
Or a breeze that brushes through fleeting dreams.
The waves hold magic, fierce yet pure,
A silent power that will endure.
I long to rise, a bird set free,
To soar through skies of infinity.
Not shaped by hands of another’s art,
But true to the rhythm of my heart.
I seek to rise where my spirit dwells,
Not someone else—but myself, and well.
LOVE CASTS US INTO THE ABYSS
“Love is the fire that lights the heavens and scorches the earth. It leaves nothing untouched. After visiting an exhibition on passion in Italian Renaissance art, I was struck by the intensity of love’s duality—how it uplifts and destroys all at once. That night, I wrote this.”
Love casts us into the abyss,
A dream of tomorrow’s bliss.
“You rise and cannot see,”
Cries the star, disgraced and free.
Love burns the heart, consumes the soul,
Leaving us less than whole.
It dries the body, quenches the flame,
And leaves us wandering, lost to shame.
Empty love, a shadowed thought,
A fortress of tears where hope is caught.
The sword of love, both iron and fire,
Breaks upon words of reckless desire.
AUTUMN WHISPERS IN PARIS
“On an autumn evening in Paris, I walked beneath the golden rain of leaves, their whispers carried by the wind. The city felt alive, as if it, too, breathed the poetry of the season.”
The autumn wind calls, soft and low,
Through Paris streets where shadows grow.
It stirs the leaves in a golden flight,
A fleeting dance in the fading light.
The Seine reflects the twilight’s glow,
Its waters deep, where dreams still flow.
Beneath the arches, the city hums,
To the rhythm of footsteps, as evening comes.
The air is sharp, the world feels near,
A tapestry woven with love and fear.
The bells of Notre Dame softly chime,
Marking the hours, stealing time.
A café table, a pen in hand,
Words take flight at fate’s command.
The city speaks in a thousand ways,
In autumn whispers, in smoky haze.
The wind may chill, but hearts stay warm,
Sheltered by love in every storm.
Paris in autumn, a bittersweet song,
Where moments linger, though nights grow long.
RAINSONG IN THE CITY
“As the rain fell, I stood at the window, watching the city blur into a painting. Each droplet seemed to carry a secret, and the rhythm of the storm stirred something deep within me.”
The rain begins, a gentle sigh,
A silver veil from a tearful sky.
Each droplet dances upon the stone,
A hymn for the lost, the wandering, alone.
The rooftops glisten, the streets take sheen,
The world reborn in shades serene.
Windows blur with a liquid art,
Each streak a story, each smear a heart.
The scent of rain—earth’s quiet prayer,
Lingering soft in the heavy air.
A rhythm steady, a timeless beat,
A soothing balm for weary feet.
And as it falls, it seems to say,
“Pain will pass, just as clouds give way.
The darkest skies will always part,
For rain is the language of the heart.”
When the storm subsides and silence remains,
The world is brighter for the cleansing rains.
And in the stillness, the soul may see,
The beauty that comes from simplicity.
IT IS EASY AND SIMPLE TO BE FREE
“After my first television job, I stood on the roof of the studio, gazing at the stars. The breeze whispered freedom, but I wondered: was it truly easy to feel free? In that moment, I learned freedom demands more than wings—it demands wisdom, courage, and the strength to be wholly yourself in a world that never stops watching.”
It is easy and simple to be free,
But only if your soul agrees —
To walk a path that few have known,
And claim as yours a life your own.
In the dazzling glow of the studio’s light,
I performed my part, I fought the fight.
To be wise, so my eyes could speak,
To be clever, quick with words unique.
But beneath the script, behind the scene,
A quieter truth lay, unforeseen:
To be strong meant more than to endure,
It meant to hold my essence pure.
For in this world of fleeting frames,
Where every step calls forth acclaim,
It’s easy to lose what makes you whole,
To trade applause for your very soul.
Freedom asks for more than flight,
More than dreams beneath the night.
It asks for wisdom, so your heart can lead,
And strength to rise when the world impedes.
To react, to reply, in clever command,
To steady yourself when you barely can stand.
To gather the chaos, the noise, the pain,
And funnel it all through heart, mind, and brain.
It is freedom to smile when the cameras roll,
To balance the weight of a scripted role.
But greater still is the quiet art,
Of staying true to a tender heart.
The lights may fade, the applause subside,
But freedom is found on the soul’s inside.
It is not the fame, the roar, the glare,
But the strength to know yourself out there.
To soar alone where dreams take flight,
To harness the stars that pierce the night,
To hold your ground, through storms that reign,
And transform the struggle into gain.
For freedom is not the wind’s embrace,
Nor the fleeting charm of a familiar face.
It’s the wisdom to see, the strength to know,
That to truly be free, you must let yourself grow.
So let the stars be your silent guide,
Let the truth within you coincide.
For freedom is not just to flee—
It is to stand, unbroken, and simply be.
VINTAGE TEARS RUN DOWN THE WALLS
“There is a solemnity in decay, where time itself breathes heavier than silence, and every crack whispers secrets of the past. In Venice, I found a room that seemed to listen to its own sorrow.”
In the depth of a Venetian night,
Beneath the moon’s uncertain light,
A woman stands where shadows fall,
Her voice caught in an ancient hall.
The walls, adorned with vintage tears,
Bear witness to forgotten years.
Each faded fresco, each fractured stone,
Holds whispers of lives once brightly known.
Beneath the dust of chandeliers,
The room still aches with long-lost fears.
Velvet drapes in tatters cling,
Like ghosts that mourn but cannot sing.
She stands, a figure carved from strength,
Her voice stretched out to its full length.
“Listen,” she cries, “to the echo within,
For silence itself holds where dreams begin.”
A lace gown, crumpled on the floor,
Speaks of nights when love implored,
Yet now, its threads are bare and thin,
A testament to what had been.
Time’s relentless, unyielding tide,
Has robbed this room of all its pride.
The mirror cracks, its gilded frame,
Reflecting only time’s cruel claim.
Yet she, unbowed, unbroken, tall,
Faces the shadows that haunt this hall.
“Do you hear me?” she whispers loud,
“I am not buried beneath the shroud.
These walls may crumble, stone may crack,
But I am here, and I am back.
To speak of love, to speak of fire,
To breathe again, to rise, inspire.”
Her tears do not fall weak or frail,
They run like rivers through the veil.
Of time, of loss, of longing’s weight,
They forge a path, defying fate.
The villa weeps with her refrain,
Its vintage tears no longer vain.
Her voice unites the past with now,
To memories forgotten, she makes her vow.
“Hold my strength in these walls divine,
Let them remember what once was mine.
Not just a shadow, not just a trace,
But the life I lived, the dreams I chased.”
And as her words fill every space,
Venice itself seems to embrace,
The woman who dared to defy the years,
Turning silence to song, and pain to tears.
Vintage tears still run, but now,
They sing of love’s eternal vow.
A room reborn in echoes’ grace,
A timeless woman’s rightful place.
SUCH A FOOLISH CHILD
“We live within labyrinths of our own creation, blindfolded by the fears we nurture. This poem was born from a silent plea to shatter those walls and let the light pour in.”
They said life is but a fleeting moment,
A shadow that dances and fades with dawn.
Yet you, child, cling to the darkness,
Chained by fears you call your own.
You carry burdens unseen, unspoken,
Your satchel heavy with the weight of years.
Pain walks beside you, silent and ceaseless,
Fear whispers softly, fueling your tears.
Foolish child, so cruel, so lost,
Wandering through mazes of your mind.
Your soul, a prisoner of shallow mirrors,
Where love’s reflection you cannot find.
Blind though you see, you twist the truth,
Your thoughts, a web of veils and lies.
Peace is within your grasp, yet you shun it,
Pointing outward with reproachful eyes.
Drunk on dreams of freedom’s fire,
Yet you build your prison stone by stone.
The illusions you weave consume your spirit,
And in the void, you are alone.
A single tear betrays your sorrow,
Deceived by hope, you dare not believe.
You doubt, you envy, you rage, you wander,
But all the while, the world still breathes.
All will pass, and you will fade—
Fading into a world of shadows,
Where passion, love, and dreams are buried,
Forgotten beneath the fear you sowed.
Child, awaken! Let the walls collapse.
Let your soul breathe where stars collide.
The universe awaits your courage,
To ignite the fire you hold inside.
Look! The world is calling you home,
Its colours bursting like radiant blooms.
Return, and let your spirit soar—
For life, dear child, is yours to consume.
A SECRET HIDDEN INSIDE ME
“There is a fire within that never dims – a whisper, a longing, an ancient voice that calls us to the horizon. This is my ode to the secrets we carry and the strength they ignite.”
A secret lies deep within me,
Its name veiled by the sands of time.
A passion burns, a riddle unfolds,
Its flame eternal, yet undefined.
Sanskrit whispers trace my veins,
Carved in ink both fierce and tender.
The calligraphy of a restless soul,
Seeking truths it cannot surrender.
Freedom’s chime echoes within,
Yet its chains sing songs of years to come.
The horizon tempts with its blazing lure,
A rebel’s dream, where fears succumb.
The madness of longing taunts my sleep,
A panther prowling in moonlit dreams.
It paces within the caverns of my heart,
And I feel its strength in my silent screams.
What keeps me tethered, what pulls me near?
A vice, a love, a life I revere.
It is the ache of wanting, the fire of faith,
The relentless pull of an unseen fate.
Perhaps it is madness—this hunger, this fire.
Or perhaps it is power, unyielding desire.
To grasp what lies beyond the veil,
To touch the stars and carve my trail.
Within me roars this ancient song,
Its melody fierce, its rhythm strong.
A vice, a virtue, a secret flame,
Forever hidden, yet never tame.
O secret, will you always hide?
Or will you burst forth, unbound, untied?
Within you lies my dream, my fight,
The eternal struggle for life and light.
WE HAVE EXHAUSTED OUR RESOURCES
“In our race for more, we forget the balance that sustains us. This poem is a reflection on the paradox of our existence – a cycle of creation and destruction, of hope and despair.”
We have plundered the earth,
Chasing shadows across the sands.
With empty hands, we climb the peaks,
Dreaming of summits we do not understand.
In temples, we bow to gods unseen,
Yet honour idols wrought by man.
Our prayers are whispered into the void,
While greed and fear shape our plans.
We slow the moon’s silent march,
At the brink of the abyss, we pause.
But only to grasp at fleeting treasures,
Never to question their cause.
Armoured by fear, we march through storms,
Seeking solace in a fleeting sun.
Our hearts, volcanoes of rebellion and sorrow,
Erupt with dreams that cannot be undone.
The rain falls, but does not cleanse,
The rivers flow, but do not heal.
We are both creators and destroyers,
Bound by a wheel we cannot still.
O humanity, what will remain?
When the forests wither and the oceans drain?
When the earth, exhausted, falls silent at last,
And our dreams are relics of a forgotten past?
THE DISTANT ROAD
“The road ahead is a metaphor for all we seek and fear. It stretches endlessly, both a promise and a challenge – a reflection of our inner journey.”
The road, the distant road,
How it beckons with its endless lines.
The wind whispers of places unknown,
Of shadows cast by ancient signs.
Lost in dreams, I tread this path,
Each step a question, each shadow a doubt.
The sea crashes, its waves dissolve,
Leaving foam where hope runs out.
I yearned for loss, for wisdom’s cost,
But now, what remains of me?
Perhaps only dust upon the breeze,
A fleeting ghost of what could be.
Where is the path, so pure, so bright,
That destiny promised in the stars?
Its horizon fades into the night,
Yet I still follow its endless scars.
The road, the distant road,
Its echoes haunt my restless heart.
The wind carries my soul away,
Yet I am bound to its eternal start.
In the road’s embrace, I find my truth —
Not in its end, but in its length.
For every shadow and every stone,
Grants me wisdom, grants me strength.
THE WHISPER OF LEAVES
“There was a strange stillness that day, as if the world whispered secrets meant only for the brave to hear. I listened to the leaves, and they carried my fears away.”
The whisper of leaves, fresh winds that cry —
Have we strayed too far beneath this sky?
Perhaps the shard’s edge has cut too deep,
Or the heart’s soft murmur is bound to weep.
A cup falls, shattering in shadowed halls,
A mouse scurries through the silken walls.
Summer has fled, its blossoms dry,
Night’s harsh voice cloaks the garden’s sigh.
Bread turns stale, preserved by mould;
Life lingers on, though not all hold.
A butterfly hides from the empty air,
While water whispers, clouds declare.
The wind moans low, the oak tree bends,
Rumours grow heavy, no voice defends.
Grief drowns grief in this solemn haze,
Cold hands falter, the heart obeys.
The phone rings sharply, a hollow tone,
Echoing glances, a mossy stone.
The tempter’s jest – a cruel disguise,
In paper traps and clever lies.
Coins bow heads; they make us kneel,
Prayers rise heavy, their weight too real.
War without war, hunger’s quiet refrain,
Gold unseen, marking days of pain.
THE ENCHANTED CASTLE
“Dreams sometimes open doors to places we cannot return from. I stood before a castle, its gates swinging wide, and I walked through, knowing the world would never be the same.”
A castle of dreams, its gates unfold,
Once shy, now bold, in whispers told.
I gather words like fleeting sighs,
The river’s rush, where longing lies.
This tender world, so soft, remains—
Why do thoughts bear so many stains?
The sand, the breath, the salt-laced kiss,
Draw me toward a hidden abyss.
The body shrouded in velvet mist,
The sea-wind’s hum, the sunset kissed.
A fragile wave reflects the glass,
Where time and tide shall never pass.
The night holds vigil, stars align,
Each moment whispers, “You are mine.”
A shadow’s dance, a fleeting thread,
The castle lives within my head.
TO DANCE ON THE STARS
“I love to dance. All my childhood, I danced with grace and elegance—classical, waltz, and Latin rhythms that set my spirit free. Even now, when I am weary, only dance can carry me to my world. Beneath the vast sky, I seek not answers but freedom: to dance, to dream, to feel that every step is a triumph over gravity.”
To dance on stars, to feel their glow,
To weave a dream where rivers flow.
To shimmer bright amidst the crowd,
A voice of grace, both strong and proud.
The world unfolds, a canvas vast,
Awaiting rhythm, sure and fast.
The winds may whisper, “no, you can’t,”
But destiny cries, “you shall enchant!”
To be as air, unbound, supreme,
To rise above life’s harsh extreme.
To love, to lead, to stand, to dare,
To dance my way through light and air.
I seek the flight, the endless chase,
The night’s embrace, the wild heart’s grace.
To break the walls that hold me tight,
To let in hope, a golden light.
My soul a fire, my words a song,
A lion’s spirit, fierce and strong.
Forever true to dreams I claim,
A queen of life, in dance’s name.
IN THE SEA OF TEARS
“I ran along the shore today, the wind tearing at my hair, the salt stinging my skin. It felt like the ocean was trying to cleanse my grief. For the first time in months, I felt a glimmer of peace. Grief is a tempest, but even in its depths, I found the strength to stay afloat. The stars above reminded me of the light we carry within.”
The sea of tears, an endless expanse,
Draws me into its mournful dance.
Beneath the waves, where silence cries,
I see no ground, no saving skies.
In this abyss, where deserts fail,
The sun’s fierce fire leaves no trail.
Alone I drift, a shadow untamed,
No longer the one by my name reclaimed.
The winds rise up – my heart burns wild,
No longer the meek, no longer the child.
Hands once soft now wield the flame,
Cleansing the scars of grief’s cruel name.
Through waves of sorrow, I reach the stars,
Breaking the chains of ancient bars.
The granite held tears, now turned to stone,
Yet my soul sings – no longer alone.
THE COLD WIND
“When the world sleeps, the poet awakens. It is in the stillness of the night that verses come alive, though they leave the heart heavier than before. There are winds that strip us bare, leaving nothing but truth in their wake. These are the winds that teach us how to stand.”
The cold wind speaks, its voice alone,
A mournful song in a hollow tone.
Its fingers reach through cloaks and veils,
Revealing truths where silence wails.
The bars of the heart, their iron rusts,
As winter devours hope encrusts.
But beneath the frost, the earth holds tight,
A seed of courage in the night.
A flower rises amidst decay,
Born from the silence of yesterday.
Its petals sing where sorrow stings,
A note resounds from hollow strings.
Though the wind howls, it cannot break
The roots that grow for life’s own sake.
It strips us bare, yet we remain,
Alive in truth, despite the pain.
THE MIRRORED WORLD
“In the mirror, I saw not just a reflection, but an infinite landscape – both beautiful and cruel. A world too vast to escape, yet too fragile to embrace.”
A mirrored world – boundless, deceptive,
We live within its depths, reflective.
And yet, a fleeting truth appears,
When joy’s rare smile dissolves our fears.
Destiny grants us dreams to claim,
Yet dreams are shadows—lost in flame.
They come, they go, like restless tides,
And in their wake, our soul abides.
Life is brief, or so it seems,
Yet endless when it cradles dreams.
Each fleeting year, a tender page,
Where youth and wonder meet with age.
Ships roar against the harbour walls,
Lions bow where twilight calls.
Beneath forgotten wealth decays,
Yet beauty lingers in its haze.
A youthful heart grows old, resigned,
The eyes grow dim, the soul confined.
Yet still, we find the strength to rise,
And greet the garden, clear of lies.
YOUR ERROR SCARRED THE SOUL
“Today, I sat on the sand, the ocean stretching infinitely before me. The waves spoke a language I longed to understand. I dipped my pen into their rhythm and wrote about diplomacy—how it mirrors the tides. It is both gentle and forceful, patient yet unyielding. A seagull hovered nearby, a silent witness to my thoughts. “The world,” I wrote, “is as fragile as this shoreline, shifting with every wave, yet enduring through centuries.””
Your error scarred the soul, you see,
And cast it adrift in a storm-torn sea.
Unready was I for the world’s vile play,
Unready to face love’s bitter fray.
The moon blurred dreams with its spectral glow,
Binding my feet where shadows grow.
You let your life drift with the breaking dawn,
And gained love’s kiss, but dreams were gone.
You knew the winds – unstable, wild,
Feared each pause like a restless child.
You ran, you fled, you let it fade,
The trust you once so lightly laid.
Desire led you, open and bare,
Yet you drowned in its embrace, unaware.
Forgotten truths in tears dissolved,
Loneliness stood where hope resolved.
A meagre world of fleeting might—
Among sharks, serpents, and piranhas’ bite.
You lost your path, consumed by vice,
Yet in your will, life still survives.
WHAT IS FREEDOM IN DARKNESS?
“The library is my refuge. Rows upon rows of books, each holding a piece of someone’s mind, someone’s struggle. I’ve been spending hours here, lost in legal texts and the occasional novel. Balance is everything. To be free is not to escape the shadows, but to walk through them unbroken. Freedom is the light we find within.”
What is freedom in darkness dire?
Perhaps a steadfast step through mire.
Perhaps the keenest eye that sees,
The beauty born of whispered pleas.
Freedom is to hold each heart,
And in return, your love impart.
To value all who dare to give,
To see the truth, to truly live.
Freedom is the distant star,
That guides the ship when storms are far.
To stand respected, firm and free,
And know that life still beats in thee.
