In memory of
(traduzione di Silvia Ferrero)

Sunday 23rd of May
7th Anniversary
of the slaughter

"One dies generally because one is alone or because

one gets involved in a game which is too big.

One dies often because one does not have the necessary alliances at one’s disposal,

because one is without support.

In Sicily the Mafia targets those who are loyal to the State,

those whom the State has not been able to protect."


Bequeathed from Judge Falcone

Marcelle Padovani

"Giovanni Falcone would not have liked to become a hero.

For he was convinced that a State which is technically equipped and politically engaged could defeat

Organised crime and avoid so many individual sacrifices.

According to Falcone, the collective responsibility of special offices, local Institutions, national Power of Attorney should have been able to anonymise single personalities, therefore, to defuse the vulnerability of single Antimafia operators:

"When there are substantial collective institutional bodies," he used to say "when the struggle is not built upon or symbolised by only one person, then the Mafia thinks twice before shooting."

Hence, Falcone would not have liked to become a hero.

"is it really worth," I asked him during a TV interview in January 1988 "is it really worth risking

one’s life in the name of this State?"

And he answered, a little puzzled: "As far as I know, there is only this State, or more precisely,

this society, of which the State is the expression."

He was not a hero for vocation, yet he was loyal to the State: this was Judge Falcone."

(Exert from: an introductory note to the 1995 edition of: Things of COSA NOSTRA).


A collection of writings and poems, edited by Nadia Scardeoni


Palermo: another farewell, another alarm!

How many times have I been disappointed by man,

how many times while looking for clarity,

has one found death,

Circumlocution, business connections.

How many times roles rather than people.

Power shoots

Power shoots

It shoots to eliminate

It shoots to destroy,

It shoots to maintain,

It shoots to contain,

It shoots for honour.

Power shoots and then it cleans up

And it seems everything is finished.

Tragic day: I will not forget you.


Simona Faiella


Stormy and heavy is the rain.

Pelting noise like a watching crowd.

Laden with tensions and queries.

Rain is tedious for those who have smart shoes.

The only protagonist of a tragedy

nonetheless repeated too many times

is the rain, that instead of the sun

in the warmest hour of the day,

in the land of SICILY,

pours to wipe from the list

the names of the dearly lost

mingling with the tears

of a sorrow

that with great difficulty changes into hope and anger

in the eyes of the future.


Rossella Strianese


My heart is full of resentment.

My mind is suffocated by thousands of whys.

It is death again,

it is death for the one who defended justice.

They have annihilated him,

like a cut plant,

they have broken him.

And now, we are alone again,

without any support,

without any defence.

Take courage, do not stop,

let’s attack, let’s defeat the one

who wants to gain power from our silence.


Enrica Lapenna



applause to the dead

insults to the living.

San Domenico Square, sadness,

a profound bitterness,

lives flown away, destroyed,

broken emotions.

Desperate people, resigned,

funerals in progress,

this is Palermo today,

a city whose face is livid and humble.

Sunglasses that hide terror and delinquency.

This is Palermo today.


Alfonsina Picciocchi


It is a rainy day,

Palermo calls for justice with a voice suffocated with anger,

the crowd is reunited.

There is consternation, anger against the State,

such a defenceless State.

The guardian angels, protectors of life are there,

with the one they protected,

they have accompanied him even in death.

The crowd applauds the heroes,

the warriors who died in battle,

each clap like a laurel wreath.

Everything ends,

but the will to continue,

but the hope other men

will continue with this struggle.


Achille Giuliani


The thoughts of the children from the tree of Falcone

Falcone you should not have died because without you we will never unmask the Mafia that will kill the whole of Sicily.

I hope a man as courageous and strong as you will come again.



Falcone you were an honest man and fought for us against the Mafia.

You will remain in our hearts.

I hope in the future there is a new judge as good and honest as you.




The Mafia this time was too cruel

I hope it repents itself

And the sacrifice of these martyrs proves useful.




To Judge Falcone

The sun goes out

Clouds shade the buds

of small flowers

laid on the coffin

small flowers to say: NO to the Mafia!

Thanks, great man.



Falcone you were a good magistrate.

You fought the Mafia.

I truly think Jesus will welcome you with open arms

in that world so beautiful and distant

where you now no longer suffer.

You, up there, become a child again

and happiness reigns in your heart

already full of love and justice

opposed to that pumice-stone that is floating in the water but that

one day

will have to sink.





Falcone you discovered too much,

you had the courage and the will to bring down the Mafia

and I hope your death

will never be useless

on the contrary, will serve

to light up hope in all of us.





We, who have seen Sicily

mother pregnant with strength and will

slaughtered on the motorway

like minced meat.


We, who with our throats and nostrils gripped

with the stench of burning living flesh

have refrained from vomiting

in front of burning embers and small shapeless pieces

of what, only a while ago, was

feelings, emotions, youth, the will to live.


We, who have seen wild beasts

tear up with sharp teeth and pointed finger nails

words, from the dictionary of the honest ones,

such as justice, freedom and dignity.


We, who have seen hope

committing suicide from the balcony of the Capital city

so distant from us.


We, who have imprinted in our eyes and hearts

Giovanni Falcone’s knowing smile

that keeps scoffing at those who wanted him dead.

We, who have seen Paolo Borsellino

put back in order the just words

in that dictionary so wrenched and torn apart.

We, who walk the streets of our land

with the fear of taking the red colour of wild poppies

for the red of the sacrificed victims’ blood.

We shall not bend

we shall not forget

we shall continue to go further

and with our heads up we shall cry out:


by Sara Favaro’

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