Dad left; like the flight of birds
when the season changes 
The flight ascended like my dream. 
He went through the dark blue sea, 
the white and yellow dry dessert, 
the huge black forest, 
and he arrived in the Transvaal. 
The indigenous huts covered with bamboo, 
gigantic trees, a troop of monkey, 
roaring wild animals and other mysterious animals;
the blacks work in the diamond mine 
while others are covered with feathers and shells, 
dancing and playing on drums. 
“Master we are faithful to you and the children”
Oh, the adventure and the adventurous!
I dreamt while waiting for dad’s 
letter, that he will tell us all these stories...
 
I searched many times 
behind the small crystal opening  
in my postbox, 
which now seems to me a precious chest:
and the pearl is there! 
It’s a long white envelope
and there’s a foreign stamp, my heart is beating out of my chest!
I waited for my mother to read it
while I was looking at the fog of Milano;
which is a sag grey and always the same!
My mother reads out loudly 
the possibly the final phrase: “Kiss Antonio and Franca
and give them my blessing”
Shaking, I asked if I could read the letter;
I took it to the bedroom and I opened it
in front of my Tom Mix comics 
with a superior attitude. Finally!
my dad was a good father, and now he will tell me
about his adventure and everyone else would be in awe...
I’m reading: “...I left my heart with the children...”
he speaks about his work. Dad is working, 
he doesn’t play with Tom Mix comics, he doesn’t dream of adventures... 
Dad is working. For me, he went very far
and is suffering... “I left my heart”... 
No, it isn’t Africa with the lions and crocodiles
and there isn’t many adventures and strange dreams;
“‘Master is alone, alone, alone,...”
...With my children I left my heart...
Dad is working for me, for my life. 
The adventure falls, and a dream dies...
 
..."And now why are you crying, boy?"...

The above poem is the English translation of the original Italian poem. The translation was written by Mila Ottavini, with the aid of Marta Ottavini and Ugo Tomassini.

Antonio wrote this in inspiration of when his father left the family in Italy to work in South Africa. During this time, there was a community of Italians that moved to South Africa for similar reasons, leaving many children in Italy feeling the same as young Antonio did in the poem above.

The writer of this poem is Antonio Ottavini, and is captured in this original photo.

He was born on the 2nd of October 1937 and passed away on the 4th of August 1995.