Ellie belfiglio

When I hear this sound that awakens me, intimidating its way into my cloistered night, I write…




Isn’t it a little twisted

Standing straight?

Like a curve!


It’s the life’s breath

Without even a word!


Murmured sound

Through the echo of a sigh


The identity is unique

So unfounded to the eyes.


It’s a creativity,

A bursting power it gives

Night after night

Hour after hour






Both my husband and I are big animal lovers. The poem you are about to read is the result of a depressing ad on TV about abused animals! Valentine is not a poet; he is a historian, nevertheless, the ad affected him so much that he wrote this emotional poem. I hope you like it as I did…



I languish in anguish;

And strain in dreadful pain!

I feel rage in this cage!

Are you glad that I am sad?


For a time, you loved me;

But now I am unfree.

I cry out in sorrow;

Please love me tomorrow!


I am blind in one eye;

Can you not hear my sigh?

You will not gently stroke

The limp paw that you broke


I swelter in shelter,

But am faithfully, me

In my mind I can pray;

Will my life end today!





“This letter is the actual letter that I wrote to my mother a while back. I haven’t changed even a word in it for the sake of blogging; it is the real thing. It is a very emotional letter for me. HERE IT IS…”


Mom, my dear mom, the moon is rising now, full, a little blue, still with all those animals and mountains, and other things we saw in moon back home. It is the same moon.

Trees’ heart are swollen for want of water. They are burning in fire of drought again in this desert that I live. I want rain, so do trees.

Mom, I am not gloomy; yet I don’t get along with myself. Listen mom, I am not going to ask for forgiveness from anybody, not a soul, no one. Why, why should I?

It is you, all of you, who cry for me! Call me adventurous.

Am I in debt, in debt because I left you and everyone else? In debt because I planted sorrow in your heart?

But do you know, can you even imagine that how my venturous nature has also left a deep scar in my heart, in my BEING?

I know that you don’t feel good. Don’t deny it. The tone of your voice tells me all I needed to know. You, like all mothers, who have a poetess daughter, spend your life in grieving. But you can’t blame all of your sorrow on me! You were always  in state of wretchedness.

Your agony began a long time ago, when your son, my little brother fell in that inauspicious well! How horrible it was. We were at grandpa and grandma’s home. I came home from school. I was only six years old. All I saw was you on the bed. You looked like you were dead. I remember that I was screaming and crying, “Is mom dead?” Grandma finally took me away and told me what had happened. And then, you remember, it was the soothing hands of grandpa, who brought the smashed, dead body of your son up to the surface. Do you remember they had tied a rope around grandpa’s waist to send him down that evil well?


But let me tell you mom, your grieving is as big as your love, your kind heart. I can understand why you are the way you are!. You have a child, me, faraway, and another child dead in such a savage manner!

But today it is me, who is writing this letter to you, mom! If it ever reaches you. You know how it is with post office and a country like yours, ours. I am sure they’ll open my letter and read it. Do you think they’re going to feel sorry for us by reading my letter?


If this letter ever reaches you, you’ll perhaps say: “Ah, finally I am hearing a few words from this daughter of mine!” But mother, dear mom, have you forgotten that you and I always talk long long hours on the phone? At least two- three times a week?

You say in a far, far day, a very far, cold wintery day, so far away I left you. I know mom, I did leave you, but I left my heart with you. Go around, you see that I am every where.

Mom, did you know that I didn’t put my poems in the pocket of my coat? I took them To TAJRISH SQUARE and burned them… Ah! Mother, you didn’t know, you didn’t know. This is the first time I am saying it to you. In fact nobody knew, not even Marjan. You know how we were  even though she is your last child and I am your first! But we always were so close. She asked me to leave my poems with her. I lied to her, told her that I am taking them. I lied to every one. I didn’t want anybody know my secrets. I couldn’t bring them with me because I didn’t know others to find them; so I burned them.

In that cold, wintery night, I took them all to TAJRISH SQUARE and burned them. It was so hard, so very hard. It was so cold, so cold that the matches weren’t working. Snow was everywhere. I used a whole match box. I used them all but I couldn’t strike them. There was only one match left, only one, the last one. I struck it, It worked, but it was about to go off, I was able to burn one page, and the second page and then all of them.


I burned twenty three years of my life. You may say how is it possible that at age thirty three I had twenty three years of writing? But mother, you never knew that I began writing at age ten, How could you have known. I had become such an expert to hide them from you when I was at school. I knew that no one ever would find them. Twenty three years of writing, of my life up in smoke , up in flame. My eyes were burning because it was cold, because fire and smoke burning my eyes, because I was crying!

I didn’t want to leave them with you since you didn’t know my secrets. I didn’t want to take them with me since I didn’t want others to know my secrets. I burned them as I buried my heart there, in TAJRISH SQUARE, a place that I had so many memory from.

Now that many years passed, my dear mom, I must, must tell you how regretful I am for burning my poems, burning my life.


Mom, I want to thank you to teach me how to smile when you were crying yourself. You taught me to smile, the smile that saved me from suffering and weeping. But nonetheless mom, I cry for you, for you and for people like you, who are always waiting, expecting, but they don’t know what for!

Oh, dear death, far death, kind death don’t touch my wall clock since it is set on a certain hour and minute and second when…

All my childhood, all my youth, has now turned to a plastic page, big, a plastic page with artificial flowers scattered all over it.


Ah, mother, reach for my hand, hold it in yours! Teach me how to walk, how to talk, how to live, how to dance…

Ah, mother, ah, honorable death, do you have any question for me?

Bye mother! Bye my kind and loving mother…




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“DO RETUEN” To Rocco, my beloved cat…

The death of my beloved cat has left a deep scar in my heart. I have other animals but he was so special and so young that I can never forget him, the pain he suffered for the disease he had and how He sat on my lap when his Vet. injected him with death fluid…

Ellie belfiglio

DO RETURN, without you the sky

Doesn’t open its clouds for cry.

It never exposes a flower’s branch

which wrote love letter with pang and wrench!

In it, told me to be patient, not in fire;

Didn’t know the dust on my heart’s desire;

Didn’t know the dust must go!

DO RETURN, without you I have no glow.

All windows are open, yet, there is no breeze.

Now, It is always waiting, nothing I can seize.

My broken heart shelters in your eyes, blue sea;

Not every heart learns to be free.

Sleep, you son of moon light;

Maybe you dream of some delight;

Or dream of the sunrise;

Not of the tears I shed for your demise;

Before the everlasting sleep took you to bridge of rainbow.

A velvety gown you wore, oh, my woe!

It’s shade reflected in your eye!

DO RETURN, Don’t ever say good bye!!!


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For years and years, I haven’t slept!

Different solutions raced in my mind;

I came across something our elders did!

Counting sheep!!!


One sheep, for the fear of today.

Two sheep, for dreams of yesterday.

Three sheep, for the regret tomorrow will bring.

Four sheep, when I am fine and love to love.

Five sheep, Am I hopeful or depressed?

Six sheep, so envious I am sometimes.

Seven sheep, I have hate for some HUMANS.

Eight sheep, I pray to fall asleep.

Nine sheep, can I enter the head of someone who sleeps?

Ten sheep, words that come and go in my life!

Eleven sheep, words that cut like knife.


Twelve sheep, I do care, yet becoming indifferent.

Thirteen sheep, how could I just went away?


Fourteen sheep, I’d promised that I would stay.

Fifteen sheep, I was that age once.

Sixteen sheep, then I had a crush on someone.

Seventeen sheep, I still long to do prohibited things.

Eighteen sheep, I wish I had all the chances!

Nineteen sheep, when I dreamed romance.

Maybe next time I want to sleep,

I’d count my disappointments instead of sheep!!!