giovedì 13 aprile 2017

Silenzio

Dopo la luna sorta
dietro la grande noce
- sogno di pace intuita -
un boato immenso a nord
ha aperto la guerra.

Parole spezzate.
Respiri fradici.
Luce smorzata.


Inizia il lungo silenzio.


Immagine da qui

domenica 2 aprile 2017

Nudi

Ho visto pioppi nudi
con le dita ossute
indicare la falce storpia
della prima luna
appena rinata
dopo l'inverno.

mercoledì 29 marzo 2017

Sacred dimension

It's so easy to
Lose the sacred dimension
In the everyday life
It doesn't seem so helpful
But it will arrive a day on which you will understand
How much you're nothing out of that sacred Land

I walk by new borders 
With my old feet 
I’ve been the murder 
Of my previous me 

Sometimes I feel older 
Than what I’m still 
Sometimes I discover 
A child inside me 

Many times in sooth
Words can’t explain why
The reasons the truths
Of being so fragile
And everyone around seems stronger and with better lives
If we are not able to live into sacred times

I walk by new borders 
With my old feet 
I’ve been the murder 
Of my previous me 

Sometimes I feel older 
Than what I’m still 
Sometimes I discover 
A child inside me

giovedì 23 marzo 2017

Sulla cima del mio monte


Sulla cima del mio monte
sento la terra muoversi
e il sole accarezzare
le mie palpebre sterili.

Sulla cima del mio monte
lascio che il vento desti
dal sogno impossibile
di non invecchiare mai.

Sulla cima del mio monte
vedo case in attesa
che l’inverno strisciante
ritorni verso il nord.

(e l’ultima mela è sacra:
ne assaporo incantato il nettare
profezia rassicurante dei nuovi fiori)

giovedì 16 marzo 2017

That is called life because there weren’t other names

It’s when I have nothing to say
And there is no new god to pray
It’s in those moments that I can find myself
Or at least what remains of myself

When you are in the middle of a desert 
That is called life because there weren’t other names 
You can have sun or you can live under the rain 
You can look around or you can decide to be afraid 

And all your choices can seem yours 
Or they can come from.. from the otherworld 

Behind the curtains I can find
My real face without the lies
That I invent to live my everyday life
To fight the war against the absence of a light

When you are in the middle of a desert 
That is called life because there weren’t other names 
You can have sun or you can live under the rain 
You can look around or you can decide to be afraid 

And all your choices can seem yours 
Or they can come from.. from the otherworld

venerdì 3 marzo 2017

Puszta *

Così piccolo e così immenso
il mio mondo in questa notte
il vento soffia dal nord della puszta
e fa da secoli lo stesso verso.
Qui l’occidente si fa sentinella
nell’ascolto dei sussurri dell’est
per conoscere il tempo esatto
dell’agognata apocalisse.

2 marzo 2017, Pècs, Ungheria 

* Il termine puszta significa "terreno nudo" è un termine ungherese utilizzato per indicare vaste distese di pianura stepposa, tipiche del bassopiano magiaro. 

Nell’immagine “The Puszta at Night” by György Soponyai

lunedì 27 febbraio 2017

Like an ember


Sun it is shining it is like an ember
After all this darkness, we’re leaving behind
I need to know if I have to surrender
Or if I have still a chance in this life

Someone says that I’m walking away 
Leaving behind the faith without awareness 
But I know there is nothing so wrong 
That can delete my hope of becoming better 

And if the spring is already arrived
I want to welcome it at my best
I burn the masks that are covering my face
And let the true light to penetrate my eye

Someone says that I’m walking away 
Leaving behind the faith without awareness 
But I know there is nothing so wrong 
That can delete my hope of becoming better

martedì 14 febbraio 2017

La semantica della ghigliottina











La semantica della ghigliottina
sento boia evocare scheletri
appuntiti vili e immortali
con vocaboli che scarnificano.

 Che sia questa la santa primavera
per compiere il giusto esorcismo?
Di nuovo sulla pira infuocata
attendo il pianto dei carnefici.

(nella foto Pyotr Pavlensky)

domenica 5 febbraio 2017

The rain on the wood

I don’t know if I am still able to write
I don’t know if I am still able to sing
Yesterday evening you said to me
Disillusionment stole your inspiration
And I have cried arrived at home
Thinking a part of us was dead

But when I hear this noise 
If I could call this noise 
That is the rain on the wood 
When the heart seems dead and you 

You can take your love 
If you have some love 
And melt it in the wood 
Until you reach the roots 

So I wonder if I can face my whole life
Without that shelter I had inside my pages
I’ve to invent during this time
A new formula to live
In this darkness inside this wind
That blows strongly on the fields

But when I hear this noise 
If I could call this noise 
That is the rain on the wood 
When the heart seems dead and you 

You can take your love 
If you have some love 
And melt it in the wood 
Until you reach the roots

sabato 4 febbraio 2017

Solo il bosco


Inietto silenzio nelle vene
solo il bosco sa comprendere
il mio intimo bisogno
di annullarmi.

Intorno al bosco sacro
le cime delle montagne
sono isole in attesa
di dissolversi.

martedì 31 gennaio 2017

In cui nascono le fiabe


Ho acceso il fuoco tra le pietre
in mezzo ai punti cardinali
per cercare di orientarmi
in mezzo a questo labirinto.

Ho fatto quello che facevo
quando ancora ero in grado
di scolpire col pensiero
il mio mondo disastrato





Ogni istante ha un soffio sacro
basta saper respirare
dentro questa notte bianca
in cui nascono le fiabe

Imbolc 2017

domenica 29 gennaio 2017

First sings winter is ill

When the light is increasing
But the wind is still freezing
I forget to ask the nature to
Being part of the renaissance too

And I wait for some signs
To say spring is arrived
But I know that winter is still deep
I nourish little flames inside to me

Granny where are you 
To say where there are 
The violets of spring 
First sings winter is ill 

Sometimes I walk 
Along the same paths 
But I have seen no more 
Without you those colours 

So my refugee is only
To remember all your stories
Speaking of the holy connection
Between the men and the nature

Granny where are you 
To say where there are 
The violets of spring 
First sings winter is ill 

Sometimes I walk 
Along the same paths 
But I have seen no more 
Without you those colours

venerdì 20 gennaio 2017

Briciole












Raccolgo briciole sul tavolo
disavanzo di abbondanza
alfabeto del caos quotidiano
grammatica millesimale

Eppure rammentano il cielo
quando è buio sul crinale
cosparso di stelle immense
e di polvere asteroidale

C’è coincidenza divina
solamente intuibile
là dove sembriamo minimi
si riflette immensità

martedì 17 gennaio 2017

What can I do?


When I have blessed the morning
To say that I am grateful
Along my complex journey
Without waiting for help to

To reach something, to help someone
But only because I feel really thankful

The problem is that 
These moments so glad 
Pass so fast that 
I Cannot remember 

The instant after 
Why I was so glad 
I’m already sad 
In all my thinking 

What can I do 
If from this window 
I see the moon 
Over the city 
And I can only think why not throw myself out? 

So maybe it’s the moment
To change this bad behavior
The habits often can hide
The killers of ourselves

They make us bad and sometimes sad
But without a real reason to feel that way

The problem is that 
These moments so glad 
Pass so fast that 
I Cannot remember 

The instant after 
Why I was so glad 
I’m already sad
In all my thinking 

What can I do If from this window I see the moon 
Over the city And I can only think why not throw myself out?

giovedì 5 gennaio 2017

Capacious Soul

So maybe I’ve understood
At the end of this year
Before the sun goes down
Beyond the south-west mounts

There is nothing to program
And nor even to comprehend
There is only the present
And then nothing nothing else

And here sitting on this hill 
I am speaking to my fears 
Saying that they can go away 
‘cause their path is no more my way 

I destroy the prison of time 
While the time doesn’t exist 
We’re ourselves before being born 

I admit I am just arrived 
And there is so much to be learned 
But at least I have a capacious soul 

Life is just a stream that
Exists only if observed
In a moment of the day
After that is something else

So imagine you were blind
But with your soul you could fly
How could you perceive the time?
Try this as an exercise

And here sitting on this hill 
I am speaking to my fears 
Saying that they can go away 
‘cause their path is no more my way 

I destroy the prison of time 
While the time doesn’t exist 
We’re ourselves before being born 

I admit I am just arrived 
And there is so much to be learned 
But at least I have a capacious soul 

31st December 2016