My Salento, land of olive trees...silent, ancient witnesses
of time slowly meandering
like an old cart, pulled
by a tired and feeble horse.
My Salento, land of olive trees...
which in the dim twilight
stain the immense sky with blood,
with their silvery leaves,
like sharp lance blades.
My Salento, land of olive trees...
twisted and eaten away by the wind...
the moss grows on their trunks
tilted and curved towards the sunset
searching for the last gleam of light.
My Salento, land of olive trees...
souls in torment by the sea edge,
ready to unfurl their sails
to the wind and set off
to places where our children will never return.
