The windows of the castle

 

LISTEN TO - ASCOLTA

It seems we wait for Christmas all the year 

trying to fight the useless blessed tears 

This sunset is the shortest of the year

Lucy the Saint the eyeless seems to hear 

And I have seen the windows of the castle 

the last rays of the sun on window pane 

the highest point towards the east 

while all the world is going to feast 

for Christmas 

These nights are long but not dark as the soot 

the days are bright but short as my good mood 

I know I’d need to stay into the woods 

to find out some trace of me and not to lose 

And I have seen the windows of the castle 

the last rays of the sun on window pane 

the highest point towards the east 

while all the world is going to feast 

for Christmas

Waxberry

 

Santa Lucia 

è sole pieno 

a sud est 

e fumo speziato 

di bucce d’arancia: 

le ultime bacche 

di cera bianca 

sui rami spogli 

del sinforicarpo* 

in silenzio evocano 

l'inverno. 

 

* Symphoricarpos Duhamel è un genere di piante della famiglia delle Caprifoliacee, i cui membri sono noti in italiano come sinforicarpi o sinforine. Sono noti anche col nome inglese di Snowberry o Waxberry.

Consola

 

In attesa dell'alba 

la testa è un'ostrica 

aggrappata 

al cuscino 

gli occhi sono pozzi 

assetati 

in preghiera. 

Consola soltanto 

la certezza 

assoluta 

dell'arrivo 

incipiente 

del sole.

Nothing like my face

 

LISTEN TO - ASCOLTA

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Time of my life 

is like a big tide 

while I don’t even know the last time I have cried 

 

In my busy mind 

the need to be alive 

is in contrast with all the thoughts against the life 

 

There is nothing like my face 

that is for me a maze 

I try to avoid the mirror 

to escape me from the pain 

 

But I know I can’t go this way 

it’s something to erase 

from my mind with the scissors 

I cut the pain away 

 

 A boat I’ve inside 

into waves so high 

but always looking for an harbour to survive 

 

Nothing seems so right 

or even a bit kind 

while I am always thinking of the same lie 

 

There is nothing like my face 

that is for me a maze 

I try to avoid the mirror 

to escape me from the pain 

 

But I know I can’t go this way 

it’s something to erase 

from my mind with the scissors 

I cut the pain away

I walk nearby my house but it’s as I’m in India

 

LISTEN TO - ASCOLTA

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I walk nearby my house 

but it’s as I’m in India 

my mind oh is allowed 

through words sweet as the stevia 

to travel far from my sad life 

where other stories seem so right 

 

While here it’s cold and wet 

I can taste warmth and sun 

while I am feeling bad 

I can have a young heart 

this is the power of the humans 

to be elsewhere without being new ones 

 

In my mind I’m told to seek some truth 

but I’m lost where all sacred’s abused 

when I try to clean me from the soot 

I find myself where darkness looms 

give me some truth 

 

All the brambles around 

the last with still some leaves 

and there is not a sound 

that early sunset sweeps 

but his words transport in a while 

in a place full of noise and life 

 

Fog is covering all the wood 

but some sun is still on the roof 

every day I fight with my sad mood 

to travel with the mind is helpful 

if I find some truth

Black wall

 

LISTEN TO - ASCOLTA

Let the wind speak with my tongue 

so that I can learn its old song 

and becoming younger 

that is what I want 

 and becoming father 

even if I’ve no son 

Let the wind bring here the west 

with all the beauty and the rest 

and the ancient prayers 

we need to pronounce 

to fight against the slayers 

that erase our nouns 

There is a black wall made of clouds you see 

and it is covering the south totally 

I don’t know what it is but is impressive 

I don’t know what it is but is suggestive 

Let the snow erase a night of pain 

covering all with that white veil 

so that when we will see 

the melting miracle 

we all better will be 

at least into a new mode 

There is a black wall made of clouds you see 

and it is covering the south totally 

I don’t know what it is but is impressive 

I don’t know what it is but is suggestive

Fusione sacra

 

La musica si fonde 

nei moti del fuoco 

le note come fiamme 

librano nell’aria 

e le nuvole sono 

il fuoco del cielo 

acqua aria e sale 

che aprono e chiudono 

le palpebre a Dio.