When life
turns into
a bramble bush,
thicker and thicker,
bigger and bigger,
where the sun
doesn't filter anymore
and thorns
are everywhere,
when
even the caress
of a leaf
hurts and wounds
because nothing
is more difficult
than being aware,
let
the time
soothe pain,
the smile
shyly reappear,
let someone
plant a rose
in that bush.

20.10.'09

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

The cold will come
colouring the mountains,
painting white
the peaks
and drawing the slopes
with the winter sun.
It will silver the plains
and with frost and ice
will cover the meadows.
The cold will come
to change the sea
raising the foamy waves
and darkening the blue.
The cold will come
to clean the sky
flooding it with light
and transparent beauty.
The cold will come
and it will numb people
who will count the days
to see spring again.


25.12.'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

At fourteen
one can live on love alone
and today it's the birthday
that for months he had been waiting for
to say “I love you”
to his girl
with the smile on the mouth
and the heart trembling
with emotion.
The boy runs
with the flowers in the hand
barely bought
and already withered
because he cannot pay more,
with the hair ruffled
by the rain and by the sweat,
with the eyes wide opened
for the joy and for the pride,
with the lips whispering
a promise
for life.

1°.7.'13

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.

The great drought decimated the animals,
forcing them to survive on only a few drops of water
found here and there,
but one fateful day
a sudden storm
created a huge puddle,
which has become a fountain of life.
An ant is the first to find the fountain
but it has no time to drink
because a monkey orders it to leave.
“Go away.
This fountain is mine because I’m the strongest.”
And forces it to run away.
The monkey gets ready to drink
when a dog arrives.
“Go away.
This fountain is mine because I’m the strongest.”
The monkey quickly disappears
but the dog doesn’t manage to get anything to drink either
because a wolf approaches.
“Go away.
This fountain is mine because I’m the strongest.”
The dog flees
but before the wolf can drink,
a lion interrupts it.
“Go away.
This fountain is mine because I’m the strongest.”
So the wolf flees, too
and when the lion is about to drink,
a rhinoceros shouts:
“Go away.
This fountain is mine because I’m the strongest.”
Before the rhinoceros can taste the water,
an elephant arrives.
“Go away.
This fountain is mine because I’m the strongest.”
The rhinoceros vanishes
and when the elephant
draws its trunk near to the surface of the water,
the ant who first discovered the fountain stops it.
“Go away.
This fountain is mine because I’m the strongest.”
Elephants
don’t like ants
and so the elephant runs away.
When the ant,
even thirstier than before,
is just about to take a sip,
the monkey suddenly appears
and the story starts all over again
with the same animals,
none of which manages to drink any water
and this goes on
for days and days
until every last one of them
dies of thirst.

Our gardens
have white flowers
but we cannot plant them
in every part of the world
because many gardens
have black flowers.
They will hate us
if we want to convince them
that ours
are more beautiful.

28.12.'14

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.

We were always waiting
for an excuse to stay alone
and we would let the time
forget about us.

We have grown up together
with the scent
of the orange-blossom
of the white trees.

We opened the heart
among confessions
and no more concealed
secrets.

We would free
the dreams
locked
in the coffer of fear.

Pages of youth
hidden
among the petals
of a flower.

17.3.'10

Our mirror
is history,
its frame
touching fables,
its glass
horrendous tragedies.
Our past
is always present
and so will be in the future
but changing the man
is possible,
just remove the salt
from the ocean.

2.10.'13

I traveled the world
and wore my eyes out
looking for you,
asking the sun
not to set
so I could have more time
and the moon not to sink
so I could keep dreaming of you
and you were here,
right around the corner from home.

Where time never passes
and night is always day
and day is always night,
where clouds
doze on the horizon
and every grain of sand
has the colours of a rainbow,
there the moon dances
chasing the stars
while the wind lifts up
its silver gown.
The lights in the sky
turn the sea into a mirror
into which the stars and the moon plunge
to re-emerge and soar.
I left my eyes
on the Isle of the Dancing Moon
but wherever I go
I take it with me in my heart
so I’ll never forget

to dream.

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.

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

There is a little pearl box
in my heart
and sometimes I open it
to regale myself with joys.
I have picked them up
in silk seabeds
where caresses
have petals
and kisses
taste of honey.
I have found them
among rivers of smiles
with banks
coloured with passion,
in valleys
where fields are sown
with sweetness,
on mountain tops
made of attentions
where meadows are covered
with affections.
They are the loves of life.
There is a little pearl box
in my heart
and sometimes I open it
to regale myself with joys.

15.4.'14

Once upon a time
there was a magic
enchanted wood,
made of eucalyptuses
that touched the sky,
of cardboard and wooden
castles,
of little lakes
to splash in,
of secret
passages and loves,
of fantasy
to play with.
It was the realm
of us children,
then the witch Age
stole it
and the dragon Cement
swallowed it up.
Once upon a time
there was
but when I want
still there is.

15.1.'10

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.

“Look! A comet.”
“The comet!
The lover of the stars.
Among the noblest
and most precious
stars of the sky.”
“Why do they call it the lover of the stars?”
“Because the sky is harmony
but there's no harmony
if there's no satisfaction
and the stars
need a lover
who comes to see them
now and then
and if the stars
explode once in a while
that means
that they are unsatisfied
and sad
and tired
and that the comet
hasn’t arrived in time
to love them.
This is why stars shine.
Because they're happy.”
“I want to be a star, too.”

Drunk with solitude
he goes up the alleys
knocking doors
that no one opens.
Through a window
someone,
discreet, peeks.
The mockery of the children,
deafening echo, resounds.
Even a dog
doesn't want
to wag its tail.
Restless
he hurries his stride
until he finds himself
running
faster and faster
gasping
and then sweating
and then crying out
“Mum”
and at last
a door opens.

22.2.'09

Is it more beautiful the moon
or the sun?
A night of stars
or a day of summer?
A drop of dew
or a reflection on the water?
Is it more beautiful
the almond tree in spring
or the mimosa
in its most intense yellow?
Don't ask me
what I love most
because an ocean
wouldn't be enough
to appease my thirst
and the universe
to fill up my heart.

20.2.'13

I spoke with the waves
which capricious
come to the shore.
They seem to play with each other
who first arrives
to lap the beach
which curious
awaits.
They told me
that everyone of them
carries a mystery of the sea
that later becomes
a grain of sand
and now I know
why the grains of sand
are different from each other.
They are the mysteries of the sea
brought by the waves
for those
who want to listen to them.

4.2.'14

Dreams fly high
in the sky of wishes
driven by the winds
of our will
which, untiring, blow
and push you everywhere
tied to the thread of hope
which, strong, does not break
but they are papiermaché kites
and the tears
of those who surrender
are enough
to make them fall down
until the sun of the new day,
if we ever want to see it,
will dry those tears
giving them back to the sky.

27.6.’13

In the past
passion
used to wake me up in the morning
caressing my hair,
stirring the senses
which in the torpor
were delighted.
Imagination
was her friend
and together,
holding hands,
would stroll on my body.
In the past
passion and imagination
used to kiss me in the morning
filling my bed
with memories and hopes
and allowing the desire
to make me see
even in the dark.
They would call fantasy
who still young
loved dreaming
and with the most beautiful embroideries
would adorn my heart.
In the past,
passion, imagination
and fantasy
used to wake me up in the morning.

In the past.

5.2.’14

“There’s no need to rush.
Everything happens in its time.”
The wind said to the leaf
that, still green,
wanted to fly.
And when that time
finally came,
the leaf realized
that it had turned yellow.

The pink of the sky
plunges into the sea
in an evening of rain
painted by the sun.
The monsoon announces itself
still young yet strong
and a carpet of clouds
spreads out on me.
Eastern horizon
indented with lightnings
among flashes of light
in a sunset of pink.
If I weren't a man
I'd like to be wind
to travel and see
the emotions of the sky.

16.6.'14

The poet is a juggler
who uses words
instead of skittles,
is an illusionist
who hides dreams
in the top hat,
is a tailor
who chooses sunsets
to dress love.

29.9.'14

Has arrived a wave
on my beach,
full of blood
and pain.
It has died away
silent and sad
and among its foam
there was the smile of a child
who will never see
my land.

5.10.'13

Don't be afraid
to pass by the Earth
- the moon said to the comet -
the autumn rains
darkened it,
they sent armies of clouds,
ranks of lightnings and storms,
legions of winds and tornadoes
to imprison
the sun.
But the day and the night,
tired of hiding,
asked for help to the sky
and today
the stars have come back.

10.10.'13

The sky rumbles
and the lake ripples.
The dusky clouds,
presage of the storm,
darken the day.
The birds keep silent
the seagulls disappear
and on the quay
the boats,
creaking, move.
Shaken
the reeds bend
and eddies of algae
seethe in the waters.
The first rain falls
and announced by the thunder
sudden
the storm arrives.
Quickly comes
and quickly goes.
It's a whim of summer.
Nothing more.

21.7.'13

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.

When the sky
is tinged with pink
that blends
with the red
variegated with orange
and a veil of azure
wets
the purple contours
of long
shapeless stripes
of ultramarine blue
which lose themselves
in the white
of our
dreams.
That's it,
those
are our sunsets.
The sunsets
of January.

3.1.'10

Long ago
mermaids loved men
and men loved mermaids
but they couldn't meet
because the sea didn't want.
Mermaids live in the caves
near the coasts
but the sea
used to fill them up with water
so that the men
could never get close.
For this reason the fishes don't laugh.
They were always sad
because their mermaids cried.
The sea was touched
and created the tide
so
when the water ebbs
the men
can go down in the caves
and meet the mermaids
and when there is the tide
the fishes laugh.

29.1.'15

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

It's true,
that uncultivated field
smacks of disorder
it's not looked after,
it smacks of waste
it's not exploited,
it smacks of neglect
there's no control
but I like it

it smacks of freedom.

25.9.'13