Instagram story viewer> @silviowrites> Posts
Silvio Stifanelli(@silviowrites)'s profile avatar HD Profile

Silvio Stifanelli

@silviowrites

4.6K
followers
185
following
Italian novelist. I trade in silence, smuggle storms, and follow a lighthouse through city ghosts to the earth’s breath. My Books 👇
POSTS STORIES REELS TAGGED
Download All
LIGHT. DARKNESS. LIGHT. The Caress of Silence, the Promise of the Lighthouse. - Written by Silvio Stifanelli - . WHAT THE DARKNESS KEPT . For three years, Rahim has kept one roll of film locked in a drawer. He believes it contains the moment he chose a camera over a dying child. He has never developed it. Then Hamburg. A room near the port, smelling of salt, diesel and damp walls. Seven people carrying things no one can repair. A body that still remembers. An empty place at the table. Hands that have forgotten how to touch. Every evening, they give each other sixty seconds. No advice. No promises. Nobody asks anyone to heal. Outside, over the black water, a lighthouse keeps turning. Light. Darkness. Light. And when Rahim finally enters the darkroom, the photograph gives back something he was never supposed to see. . LIGHT. DARKNESS. LIGHT. The Caress of Silence, the Promise of the Lighthouse. - Written by Silvio Stifanelli - . #Bookstagram #LiteraryFiction #DarkLiterature #BookReels #IndieAuthor by @silviowrites
8
2 months ago
Download
While I Was Still Here . Nothing had ended. Life was still warm on my skin. I had not yet disappeared. I was already missing myself while life was still touching me. . - Written by @SilvioWrites - . #DarkPoetry #PoetsOfInstagram #SpokenWordPoetry #ExistentialPoetry #PoetryCommunity by @silviowrites
8
3 months ago
Download
Some journeys leave maps behind. Others leave salt. ZANIAR is a novel about what survives after distance, silence, desert, guilt and time have taken almost everything. A worn envelope. A name. A promise unfinished. Eight years of waiting without knowing why. Some things salt takes. Others, it gives back. ZANIAR - What the Salt Cannot Take - is available now on Amazon. #Bookstagram #LiteraryFiction #ContemporaryLiterature #BookRecommendations #AmazonBooks by @silviowrites
8
3 months ago
Download
NO WITNESS . How long have I been waking without being the one who slept? My hands already know what to do. I don’t. Who taught them? Sometimes I say my name softly, to see if my body still recognizes it. No one. And still I eat. I pay. My lungs keep their appointments. Last night I left the door open. Not to leave. I wanted to see if, by morning, I would be missed. . - Written by @SilvioWrites - . #DarkPoetry #PoetryCommunity #ExistentialPoetry #PoetryLovers #SpokenWordPoetry by @silviowrites
23
5 days ago
Download
DO NOT CALL IT BEAUTIFUL . If you ever see me cry, don’t make anything of it. Even the desert gets things wrong. Sometimes it wakes white and has no explanation. I learned to hide bad weather inside ordinary gestures; fold a shirt, answer politely, leave the table clean while something underneath it quietly goes feral. At night, the desert smells of rain. That is the cruel part. The sand cools. For one stupid second, everything prepares itself. Then nothing. Of course nothing. Sometimes I drop your name into the dry well I keep covered. No rope. I listen to it strike the walls on the way down, past all those rooms I sealed carefully and later called maturity. I don’t want hands. They stay a little too long and suddenly you owe them tomorrow. I don’t want words. Words survive the people who meant them. Just stay there. Let the wind find what I failed to bury properly. And if something moves beneath the sand, don’t rescue it. Don’t name it. Above all, don’t call it beautiful. I’ve done enough of that to things that nearly killed me. . - Written by @SilvioWrites - . #DarkPoetry #PoetryCommunity #RawPoetry #EmotionalWriting #PoetryLovers by @silviowrites
18
8 days ago
Download
BEFORE YOU STAY . I turned abandonment into preventive work: before you leave, I clear the place out. I remove the glass, the name, even the space beside me. It works. Nothing left to lose. A kind of success. Then you stayed. What an obscene gesture. Me, so good at surviving departures, I hadn’t accounted for the sound of someone setting down their keys and not leaving. . - Written by @SilvioWrites - . #AvoidantAttachment #EmotionallyUnavailable #FearOfIntimacy #RelationshipPatterns #UnspokenFeelings by @silviowrites
9
10 days ago
Download
FORGE TOMORROW’S NOSTALGIA . Tonight I forge tomorrow’s nostalgia from whatever is still warm: salt drying at the corner of my mouth, a glass sweating into the wood, your scent caught in the sheets, my face in the mirror pretending time has misplaced my name. I touch ordinary things longer now; the cold handle of a door, your shoulder under the blanket, the chipped cup we never cared about and I will one day remember better than your voice. Memory is obscene that way. It empties the room, then makes the light beautiful. So let tonight keep its dirt: plates in the sink, tired skin, the sentence we almost ruined by saying aloud. We spend years leaving the present. Later we call it precious because it cannot answer back. Stay a little. Long enough for your warmth to become evidence. Tomorrow I’ll swear we were happy. By then, nothing will be here to contradict me. . - Written by @SilvioWrites - . #DarkPoetry #PoetryCommunity #SpokenWordPoetry #MelancholyPoetry #WritersOfInstagram by @silviowrites
13
13 days ago
Download
AND IF . And if the sky were simply the last border we haven’t managed to fence yet; that obscene blue above our heads, still undocumented, still refusing to show a passport? Imagine hands. Your father’s, smelling of work and soap. A stranger’s, dirty at the nails, grabbing your wrist when you fall before anyone has time to ask where you were born. Hands used to know this. Then we became civilized. We gave them flags to raise, papers to stamp, triggers to pull, and a finger for pointing at the wrong god. Now, when someone is bleeding, we first need the correct vocabulary. Refugee. Enemy. Illegal. Collateral. Very efficient words. They keep the blood from reaching the carpet. Somewhere, tonight, a man whispers to a god with the wrong name while another man whispers to the right one and asks permission to kill him. The sky remains above both of them, blue when it can be bothered, apparently neutral. And if a stranger lifts you from the ground without checking your skin, your accent, your surname, your dead ancestors; don’t call it kindness. That word has been used too much. Call it an administrative mistake. A brief failure of civilization. . - Written by @SilvioWrites - . #DarkPoetry #SpokenWordPoetry #PoetryCommunity #HumanityFirst #PoetryThatHurts by @silviowrites
14
16 days ago
Download
THE DOOR DOESN’T CARE . We spend years naming the room so we can pretend it isn’t a cage. We label the pain, fold the fear into clean sentences, learn which ghosts deserve a chair and which ones must wait outside. Very civilised. Then a door appears. No halo. No revelation. Just cold metal under the fingers and that brief, indecent certainty that something on the other side has been waiting longer than we have. Behind us, the known with its stale breath and impeccable excuses. Ahead, nothing. Which is almost erotic. Almost cruel. I open it. The dark does not enter. It recognises me. And somewhere behind my back, the room I called home locks itself. . - Written by @SilvioWrites - . #DarkPoetry #PoetryCommunity #PoetsOfInstagram #VisceralPoetry #ContemporaryPoetry by @silviowrites
6
19 days ago
Download
ACCEPTABLE LOSSES . We have become very civilized. We no longer say “dead children.” We say “collateral, proportionate, unavoidable.” Words with clean hands. The bodies can keep the blood. At dinner, a phone lights up: forty-seven dead. Someone whispers, “Terrible.” Then asks for the salt. History, meanwhile, has learned to dress better. No boots this time. A tie. A briefing. A graph. We still save lives, of course. Just not all of them. That would be unrealistic. Apparently, the difficult part was never killing them. It was choosing the number after which we could still call ourselves human. . - Written by @SilvioWrites - . #DarkPoetry #PoliticalPoetry #PoetryThatHurts #HumanityOnTrial #WordsThatBleed by @silviowrites
20
21 days ago
Download
GOOD TASTE . I found what I loved and brought it home. Apparently, I needed the damage to know my address. It learned my side of the bed, my bad habits, the exact hour I start lying to myself. Naturally, I called it "fate". Calling it "poor judgment" felt less romantic. It left eventually. I survived. Embarrassing, really. After all that devotion, I couldn't even die properly. . - Written by @SilvioWrites - . #DarkPoetry #PoetryCommunity #PoetryIsNotDead #WritersOfInstagram #MelancholyPoetry by @silviowrites
12
23 days ago
Download
DEAD RECKONING .   I lose a little more of myself each night I take the wheel, and the losing has begun to feel like the last clean thing I own. The road unspools black and wet, and the mirror keeps offering me the profile of a stranger who has learned to answer to my name. Out there the market never sleeps: every mouth a pulpit, every screen a shrine, each one hawking his private gospel and swearing it is the final word of God, while the faithful kneel in the blue light, eyes shut and mouths hanging open, swallowing whatever they are fed, and christening the numbness devotion. History has run out of monsters big enough for us; the presses run all night. A country helps itself to a country the way a guest helps himself to the wine, no one is handed the bill, and the fist that spills the most blood is pinned with the medal. The sky has started posting its invoices, and the famine already knows the address: the poor first, the children first of all, buried under a guilt that no one will sign. So I drive. Rain on the glass, the wipers marking time to the only voice that has never once tried to sell me anything, and the dark ahead smells almost kind. The unknown used to frighten me; these nights my own front door frightens me more, the ten o'clock news, the neighbors baring their teeth in the shape of a smile while the street they are standing on goes quietly under. I want to keep losing myself, because to find myself would mean sitting down across a table from a world that died in its sleep and forgot to tell its face. What still passes for true tonight, and who is left holding the ruler? We are all afloat in the same black water, and this time the water is a lie, and the salt of the innocent has dried on our skin and it will not wash away. So I keep the needle low on purpose and the music loud enough to drown it all, running on fumes through a country I keep inventing, kinder than the one they willed me, begging the road to forget how to end, praying the pale light far ahead stays far. And here is the punchline I have been saving, the one I never say aloud: I am no cleaner than the mouths I ran from. I built a small god out of static, knelt in the blue glow by @silviowrites
9
25 days ago
Download
×

Download all media on this page

Photos Videos
back to up