I miss
the water
that lashes
the rock,
the wind
that raises
the sand,
the scream
of the seagulls
and the foaming
of the wave.
I take
the shell,
I bring it
near to the ear
and I walk,
listening
to the sea.

21.4.'09

I don't know
where passion will push me,
if it will make me run after the wishes
among steep crevasses
and marshy paths
where sharp rocks
feed on meat
or if it will make me bury my sighs
in burning deserts,
where the heart waits
to fester and melt.

I don't know if it's better
to challenge the oceans
on a ragged draft
mending the sails
with threads of hope
or to let the wind
tear off my skin
suffocating the screams
with rages of aboulia.

I only know
that one cannot water trees
with tears.

23.12.'15

Love me
with the strength of the lion
and the sweetness of the fawn,
with the passion of a youth
and the wisdom of the old.
Love me
with the force of a storm
and the quietness of a brook,
with the warmth of a mother
and the desire of a child.
Love me one minute
one night
a life.
Love me forever
only now
whenever you want.
Love me however
but love me.

27.5.’12

You always looked for my hug
even when I was sleeping,
my smell between the sheets
when I got up from the bed,
my inevitable passion
when you by stealth woke me up.
You would give me your smiles
because I wouldn't want more,
your youth
because nothing else would exist,
your time
because only together would pass by.
To win my heart
words are useless
promises are not enough
presents are not required
I need only another heart.

25.11.'13

Yesterday
sleeping
I drew the sky.
I used the pink
as the sunsets
that in childhood I waited
to go to bed with them,
the purple
as the clouds
that as a boy I ran after,
the red
as the roses that you liked,
I used the blue
as the nights
when in youth I hugged you,
the yellow
as the sun
that with light
has illuminated
throughout the life
our love
and lastly the grey
as the tears
that as an old man
I have to shed
for not having you with me anymore.


6.10.'13

I will wait
that the snow
melts
to find
our flower again,
that the roses
unfold
to watch them
together.
I will count
the days
and every moment
of them.
I will fish
for an excuse
not to think of you
even at night.
I will let
the stars
tell me
about you.
I will listen
to the moon
pronouncing
your name
and at every beat
of eyelashes
I will be an istant
closer to you.

From you I will have the shadow
when my body is parched,
burned by restlessness
and yes!
may hope
devour the fever
that into blind alleys
pushes the heart
and you, tree,
will hand me a fruit
if I'm hungry
and I don't want to seek,
when I'm cold
it will be your trunk
to give me relief
and that wind,
that wind
which freezes the blood with discouragement
and with aboulia
wounds my legs,
that wind
will be breeze
and vain
its blowing onto me.
From you I will have the leaves
that will let me rest
when my sleep
is full of tormented dreams,
vacous is relaxing then
and you, tree,
will be root for me
will be seed
will be lymph

will be the sun
of a new day.

7.1.'15

I'm tired
of chasing my dreams
on blazing lava beaches,
of fording rivers
and never seeing the other side.
I'm tired
of climbing mountains
that have no peaks
of crossing oceans
aided only by my arms and legs.
But I can’t stop
because if I did,
the dreams would just chase me.

Beyond the sea
I will cast my net
to fish for the trail
of light and fire
that the sun fleeing
has forgotten on the water
and to brighten the days
that last minutes
leaving the dark,
wounded, in the heart

as when it's winter.

25.9.'14

The fisherman
casts the net
but when there's no tag
on the line,
he knows
that he didn't cast it properly
or that he cast it
in the wrong place.

With two wings I was born
but what their use is I don't know,
I tried to hop
but I fell down,
jump here jump there
jump down jump up,
my cage is very small
and I already have two legs.
To eat I have this beak
and to play I have a swing.
I am alone,
to whom do I ask?
Who looks at me, amused,
doesn't realize that I'm crying.
I can open them,
are they a cloak?
Or maybe I can use them to sleep.
I am alone,
who can explain to me?
I have two wings that I don't use,
I was born with them and so I'll keep them
but what their use is I don't know.

20.3.'08

What will my eyes do
when the last shadows of youth
leave my warrior's body
defeated,
abandoned
to the cruel assaults of old age?
Will they cry
or will they find the strength
to open themselves to the hope
of a never-hidden desire
to live in The Beyond?
And if The Beyond does exist
the sunset will in any case be
a hard unhappy price
and so will be
the dampening of ourselves within.

I learned to walk
on glass floors,
to weigh words
as though they were gold,
to listen to the tiniest sounds
of the hearts of those
who talked to me
but I still haven't learned to fly
as feathers do.

I will never shut
my dreams inside a trunk
nor will my ears be deaf
to the desires.
The winds of tomorrow
will blow violently
and the current
will always push
towards the open sea.
But however far I roam
my heart
has never left home.

30.5.'15

I have walked
upon the lava of volcanoes
reckless, not caring
if I burned my feet,
I have sunk deep into quicksand
struggling
so that it wouldn’t swallow me up.
I have climbed the steep sides of icebergs,
holding my breath
I have strained to reach the depths of the sea
and from the top of a mountain
I have flung myself, wingless,
but a drop of rain is enough
to make me drown.

There are people outside
who are laughing, dancing, talking.
There are people outside
who are walking, loving, looking for.
The music is playing
and it arrives through closed windows
barred
not to make the enemy get in.
Time is consuming
the last flames of passion.
There are people outside
and I feel them
and I don't want to feel them
the music comes in
and I don't want to stop it.
Time is consuming
the last flames of passion.
The day is growing dark
and sadness frightens.
I watch the fishing lights
on the sea
and my eyes
are ice crystals
on the reflexes of the glass.
Time is consuming
the last flames of passion
and I am here
to hold the world
because I don't want it
to get in
but the music is playing
and I don't want to stop it
until the last flames of passion
will burn even that.

13.11.'13

It’s good to know
that the sky has no limit
and that it’s impossible
to count the stars,
that questions
can have an answer
and that every answer
will always be a question.
It’s good to know
that in the beginning
there was nothing
but that nothing
is ever a beginning.
It’s wonderful to open my eyes
and to know that You exist,
looking at me
and discovering You within me.
I don't want to know
anything else about You
nor could I pretend to know.
It’s wonderful to feel like
a tiny grain of sand
on your mysterious shores.

Saranè
is sweetness to kiss
when the first morning lights
shine upon the hair
that my hands cover
and my senses graze.
Saranè
is impetuous yell of passion
that the voice of wind whispers
when even a day
without love
changes the heart
into a desert.
Saranè
is beauty that makes sigh
when the waves of the sea
strew us with reflections,
is tenderness to keep
while the smile
lights up the eyes
and if the stars disappear
I will know
where to look for them.

31.12.'13

Tell me again
about when I was born
and you dyed
your hair pink
so that everybody would know
that you were the happiest
woman in the world.
Tell me
about when you couldn't
stop smiling
because you knew
that I would be there waiting
when you came home from work.
Tell me
about when I called you “Mum”
for the first time
and I fell asleep
saying it over and over,
even the next morning
as soon as I opened my eyes.
Tell me again
about the day they told you
that there was something wrong with me,
that I would never walk
and that I would be
confined to a bed forever.
Tell me
about when I told you
that I didn’t care about the pain
because I always had you with me.
Tell me
about the times when I couldn’t even follow conversations
because of all the things they were giving me
so that I wouldn’t suffer
and the best thing in my life
was being able to look at you
and holding your hand tight.
Tell me again
about all those people
who say that we have to bear
whatever God gives us
but then take pills
for even the mildest headaches.
Tell me again
about the day I made up my mind
that I wasn’t born to spend my life in a bed
and that I was through with waking up
just to keep sleeping.
And tell me just one more time
about when I called you “Mum”
for the last time,
when I fell asleep
and I couldn’t
stop smiling,
taking the warmth of your hand
with me.

If I saw you just once a week
I would love you for the rest of my life,
if I saw you twice a week
I would love you for half of my life,
if I saw you every other day
I would love you every other day,
if I saw you every day
every day
I’d think we would be better off
if we just ended things.

Honesty and justice
will temper selfishness
and the thirst for power.
In our house,
respect heightens fairness and dignity
and in other people’s homes
thwarts our arrogant notion
that we are superior
and entitled
to abuse others.
Tolerance,
which is unnecessary
where there is respect,
can help soothe
insecurities and fears
until respect grows.
Goodness is our final goal
and, inherently, that’s
all mankind needs
to live in peace and harmony,
fully reaping the benefits
of physical and mental pleasure.

I saw the stars
of the Big Dipper
from the city
and then I went to the seaside,
hoping to see them again
and they were there
waiting for me.
I asked them how they had managed
to get there before me
and they replied
that one must
stay still and steady
if they want to run fast.

Where there's light even at night
and the darkness obscures nothing,
where living isn't frightening
and hopes don't fade away
there is a wood
that keeps all the dreams
given up for good,
left for dead
in the oblivion of resignation
but wishes don't die
they fly away
and turn into lanterns
among those branches that wait for us
where the dark doesn't exist.

“Hold me
for just one more night
before I leave
to become a soldier of war
and don’t cry tonight.
Keep your tears
and sow them
by the lime-tree
in the shade of which
I loved you.
I will come back to pick the shoots
and adorn your hair
before the fruit
of your womb is born.”
Years went by
shoots blossomed
and every day a child
comes and picks a leaf
to put it under his pillow
and fall asleep saying
“Good night, Dad.”

Would you love me
if I were a stone
that you could throw
off of a cliff,
bloodless, heartless,
unable to shout?
Would you love me
if I were dust
that you could scatter
in the wind,
without hope
of ever seeing it again,
lost forever?
And if I were a silent shadow,
a light off in the dark
or a stick made of feathers?
I'm alive

never forget it.

10.3.'15