Wound - Extrait De Parfum - Filippo Sorcinelli

WOUND

I had a body

before night fell.

It was a house of flesh

with lit windows,

a small temple

where the soul rested its forehead

on the skin.

Then someone entered

in my most sacred darkness

and broke the bread of my light.

It arrived with stones thrown

from absent hands,

with verdicts born in the dark,

with the hatred of one who wounds from afar

and leaves to others

the weight of blood.

The bruises went away

with the pity of color.

The bites left the skin

with a weary gait

of beasts now sated.

From then on

I learned that the bodycan become a foreign room,

a bed full of nails,

a rose closed by frost

in the wrong month.

I learned

that a word can cause a bruise,

that a sentence can leave a scar,

that mockery can chew

for longer.

But inside remained

a nave of shadow,

hidden in a wounded church.

The skin knows anguish

before the mouth,

before thought,

before forgiveness.

It knows the smell of fear,

that cold iron

that enters the mind

and remains seated

like a sick king.

It knows the poison of the voice,

the blow of a sentence,

the blade of others’ laughter,

the bite of the anonymous

that throws mud

and calls truth

their own hunger.

I carried silence

on my shoulders

as a black cloak.

People saw my face

and said: you are safe.But salvation

sometimes

is only a closed door

behind which it still burns

the room.

Then the fragrance came.

It came without a sound,

as certain graces come

after the ruin.

It entered the wound

with hands of air,

with blood of light,

with dark patience.

It said to me:

your skin is yours.

It said to me:

your soul still has

a name.

And then I rose

with iron upon me,

the smoke,

the leather,

the ash,

the burnt rose,

the bitter resin

that only comforts

who has crossed the fire.

I rose

in black ink

of the words received

become a seal

on the skin.

I rose

with the stones I gathered

one by one

and fused into a crown.

Wound.

So I called

my wound

when it stopped being shame

and became power.

So I called

my name

when it emerged from the mud

with a sharper light.

So I called

my body

when it returned to fill the air

with its strength.

So I called

beauty

born from my abyss:

a liquid armor,

a fierce light,

a fragrance

rising from the ashes

and tells the world:

I am my own. I am still my own.

I lost blood,

but I found gold.I knew the shadow,

but now I rule

my night.


HARMONIC EVOLUTION

SUBJECT: Oxidized iron accord, black vanilla, leather

COUNTER SUBJECT: Jasmine, burnt caramel

CODA: Crème brûlée, eggnog