Regina Resta (Prepared Angela Kosta)
Moderator 
BRIEF BIOGRAPHY OF REGINA RESTA (ENGLISH TRANSLATION)
Regina Resta is an Italian poet, writer, and cultural organizer, born on June 20, 1955, in Castellammare di Stabia (Naples). After earning her classical high school diploma, she studied Biological Sciences with a biomedical focus at the “Federico II” University of Naples. She later moved to Galatone (Lecce), where she worked and collaborated with the Diocesan Caritas for 35 years, while also nurturing her passion for poetry and writing.
She collaborated with the web TV myboxtv through the art and culture column Verbumlandia, which she conceived and hosted. Regina is active as a freelance blogger, cultural and art event organizer, and presenter of various renowned authors such as Catena Fiorello, Giuseppe Magno, Goffredo Palmerini, Marcello Simoni, Mario Giordano, Simone Venturini, Vito Bruschini, Fabio Zavattaro, Pierfranco Bruni, Sabine Witt, Sergio Camellini, Borisav Blaoievic, Ester Cecere, and Gino Leineweber.
Throughout her career, she has published poems in various national and international cultural magazines and has participated in numerous anthologies. She has received several awards in both national and international literary competitions, including the Merit Award “Mario Luzi”, the Culture Award at the Juan Montalvo Prize, and the International Poetry Prize for Universal Peace Frate Ilaro del Corvo, with the appointment by the Centro Lunigianese di Studi Danteschi as Ambassador of Peace of Frate Ilaro. In 2020, she was awarded an Honorary Degree in Literature from the University of Belgrade. In 2024, she received the International Award Women for Culture and for Peace, recognizing her among the 50 most committed women in the world.
She is the author of numerous poetry collections, some translated into English, Serbian, Albanian, and Spanish. She also writes reviews, essays, and literary critiques in both Italian and English. Her most significant creation is the VerbumlandiArt.Aps International Association, founded in 2012, of which she is president. She is also the editorial director of VerbumPress (https://www.verbumpress.it/), a bimonthly cultural magazine, with Roberto Sciarrone—historian, teacher, and journalist—as editor-in-chief.
She leads the International Excellence Award “Città del Galateo-Antonio De Ferrariis”, now in its twelfth edition, and the DivinaMente Donna project against gender-based violence, which includes two editions of the award held in the Zuccari Hall of the Italian Senate.
The Weapon of Peace
It bears no edge, the sword I carry,
no point, no blood, no pride —
it is silence that defeats the scream,
the choice that burns away the lie.
no point, no blood, no pride —
it is silence that defeats the scream,
the choice that burns away the lie.
It is surrender that challenges pride,
the staying when fleeing is near,
it is forgiveness that digs through the rocky
depth of the wound we fear.
the staying when fleeing is near,
it is forgiveness that digs through the rocky
depth of the wound we fear.
The weapon of peace is a scar
that asks for no shield or revenge,
a mirror reflecting the enemy
with a face I’ve long estranged.
that asks for no shield or revenge,
a mirror reflecting the enemy
with a face I’ve long estranged.
It is not calm that fears the storm,
but conscience walking through pain,
a trembling hand that dares to stop
the blow that love would stain.
but conscience walking through pain,
a trembling hand that dares to stop
the blow that love would stain.
It is the weapon that breaks all war
without breaking the earth,
that speaks in the dreams of the wise,
that sleeps in the hearts of the hurt.
without breaking the earth,
that speaks in the dreams of the wise,
that sleeps in the hearts of the hurt.
It doesn’t impose, nor shout, nor swear.
It is the voice most human, most bare:
"I do not destroy,
but I keep alive
what in every soul
still cries
for justice."
It is the voice most human, most bare:
"I do not destroy,
but I keep alive
what in every soul
still cries
for justice."
The Hand of God
In the heart of the sky, 'midst light and mystery,
a hand descends, slow, from eternity.
Not made of flesh, nor stone, nor sound,
but of pure breath, of fire unbound.
a hand descends, slow, from eternity.
Not made of flesh, nor stone, nor sound,
but of pure breath, of fire unbound.
It brushes the waves where man may drown,
in guilt he bears, in dreams cast down.
It lifts the weak, breaks every thorn,
gives voice to silence, to hunger, corn.
in guilt he bears, in dreams cast down.
It lifts the weak, breaks every thorn,
gives voice to silence, to hunger, corn.
It touched the fields of war and hush,
it wrote in winds a boundless hush.
It struck like lightning, soothed like snow,
without a question, a word, a woe.
it wrote in winds a boundless hush.
It struck like lightning, soothed like snow,
without a question, a word, a woe.
And when we believe that all is lost,
that darkness reigns, no matter the cost,
there it is-within a different deed,
in the saving hug, in a blooming creed.
that darkness reigns, no matter the cost,
there it is-within a different deed,
in the saving hug, in a blooming creed.
The Hand of God asks no acclaim,
weighs not gold, seeks not fame.
But finds its home in the loving soul,
in the tearful gaze, in the sun’s console.
weighs not gold, seeks not fame.
But finds its home in the loving soul,
in the tearful gaze, in the sun’s console.
And we, small shadows beneath its grace,
stand in awe, in this fragile place,
as we brush, though just for a while,
that unseen touch-divine and mild.
stand in awe, in this fragile place,
as we brush, though just for a while,
that unseen touch-divine and mild.
Let's Stop the Wars
Let's stop the wars.
Every shot fired is a growing shadow,
a voice fading,
a house turning to dust.
Every shot fired is a growing shadow,
a voice fading,
a house turning to dust.
There are no winners in war,
only mothers waiting,
faces erased by time and fire,
children learning too soon not to cry.
only mothers waiting,
faces erased by time and fire,
children learning too soon not to cry.
There is a silence, after the explosion,
that weighs more than the noise.
It’s the silence of burned books,
empty schools,
fields without harvest.
that weighs more than the noise.
It’s the silence of burned books,
empty schools,
fields without harvest.
Let's stop the wars
not with weapons,
but with difficult words:
listening, respect, forgiveness.
not with weapons,
but with difficult words:
listening, respect, forgiveness.
We’ve already seen enough fire.
Now we need water.
We’ve already counted enough dead.
Now we need hands that build,
and eyes that look beyond the enemy.
Now we need water.
We’ve already counted enough dead.
Now we need hands that build,
and eyes that look beyond the enemy.
Let’s stop the wars.
Let’s start from here.
Let’s start from here.
Prepared Angela Kosta
