lunedì 30 aprile 2012

The whitethorn is flowered


When you gain some joy
In the things you choice
To do during your day
You have to say a prayer

You can see the sun
Suddenly waked up
There is a new surprise
We use to call springtime

Now that the whitethorn* is flowered
And I cut links with the others
I take pictures of the sky of springtime

It’s no more the time to shutter
Will I be able to face up
All the light that it is going to come?

Please tell me that there will be a new revival of the soul
To make me believe my little freedom I’ve not sold

Sun in the water**
Can gently strengthen
The life of all the ones
Can believe there’s chance

Let me heal myself
From all the no sense
I need to fix a pole
Around which I can walk

Now that the whitethorn* is flowered
And I cut links with the others
I take pictures of the sky of springtime

It’s no more the time to shutter
Will I be able to face up
All the light that it is going to come?

Please tell me that there will be a new revival of the soul
To make me believe my little freedom I’ve not sold

* Secondo la tradizione celtica, il biancospino fatato è sacro e inviolabile poiché segna i territori del piccolo popolo, soprattutto quando un cespuglio solitario cresce spontaneamente in un campo aperto. Abbattere un biancospino porta calamità e disgrazie poiché significa disonorare o non rispettare i territori degli esseri fatati che vivono nelle vicinanze. Secondo la tradizione, il biancospino fiorisce il primo maggio (Beltaine), indicando l'arrivo dell'estate. Sempre inclini a festeggiare, gli abitanti del piccolo popolo lo amano non solo per le sue spine protettive ma anche per l'allegria che la bella stagione porta con sé.

** Il “sole nell’acqua” è un’espressione utilizzata nella tradizione celtica per parlare del sole che sorge all’alba del primo maggio (Beltaine): l’idea che questa espressione vorrebbe suggerire è quella di una luce benefica, che cura e fa crescere, senza ferire come può fare la luce del sole in piena estate, quando secca i campi preparando il raccolto.

mercoledì 25 aprile 2012

Fortune teller

Things change
There’s nothing else to do
Than to accept this truth
No there’s no other way

I see
My brimful cup of tea
Becoming cold and I think
I’m the vestige of me

Sometimes I forget
The way from I come from
The place where I was born

Do you want to ask
To the fortune teller a forecast
About the rest
Of your life to start to bet

On you again?

She speaks of you as
She was an old date friend
You can’t understand
If she knows or she invents

It’s different?

I’ve been
So empty and so sad
My past full of regrets
And absent of true hands

I’ll be
Someone more successful
I will gain some new truth
The coffee grounds seem sure

Sometimes I believe
Sometimes I refuse
The things she is now saying

Do you want to ask
To the fortune teller a forecast
About the rest
Of your life to start to bet

On you again

She speaks of you as
She was an old date friend
You can’t understand
If she knows or she invents

It’s different?

giovedì 12 aprile 2012

Se il dolore riscatta


Le braccia degli abeti
s’allungano a bussare
sui vetri opachi
come i tuoi occhi
che osservano il nulla
senza più brillare.

Vorrei che il vento
rubasse il tuo dolore
e lo spargesse in nuvole
per farlo cadere puro
nella pioggia obliqua
della primavera.

Ma se il dolore riscatta
come Disma* sulla croce
la tua supplica santa
sarà la chiave cristica
di una gioia ritrovata:
il viale oltre il buio.


* Secondo il Nuovo Testamento della Bibbia Cristiana, Disma era il “buon ladrone”, colui che crocifisso alla destra di Cristo, si pentì e riconobbe la figura di Gesù come figlio di Dio, un istante prima di morire, ottenendo la salvezza. In verità il nome di questo personaggio emblematico ci viene dal Vangelo apocrifo di Nicodemo.

martedì 10 aprile 2012

Friday of the mourning


It’s now
The Friday of the mourning
The moon
Is crying drops of sun *

In the Faith
There is the only glory
My mood
Is sad, a cup’s my heart

I can fill it with blood
And wait for Christ to come

My voice
Comes back so slowly this time
From here
I know what’s to be dumb

I can’t
Sing and I cannot speak
But I
Can pray with my mind

Under the enormous light
Of the moon I can shine

Yes there is no truth
Outside this clue
Where the passions show their real meaning
And God becomes a man

All the things I knew
Seem to be not sure
So I write new letters on my spirit
While God becomes a man

The pride
Makes us forget we’re only
Some sparks
In search of the first fire

The greed
Lets us so often lonely
We are
Less than our desires

Because we need the sky
Not just material life

Yes there is no truth
Outside this clue
Where the passions show their real meaning
And God becomes a man

All the things I knew
Seem to be not sure
So I write new letters on my spirit
While God becomes a man

Venerdì 6 aprile 2012
* La luna piena di inizio aprile, che quest’anno ha coinciso con il venerdì santo, nella tradizione esoterica celtica è definite “Luna delle lacrime di sole”.

sabato 31 marzo 2012

The woodcutter


I am so sad oh wood
For being the one who took
The sacred trees of you

No I do not want to
Destroy your living truth
Under a sky so blue

I don’t forget the adolescence
When to escape the violence
That I had in my life
I’ve been in you for days
You have become my place
And you’re still in my heart

So sorry I’m oh wood
To steal your creatures
Me too belong to you

I would cut all my veins
All the trees watering
In the drought summer

But now I am the killer
And I feel as a sinner
Every time a tree falls
I can offer my prayers
As powerless as never
To heal your blessed wounds

Come back my treasure that I’m blind
Come back my ancient lullaby
I’m still a poor boy
Even if I am now a man
I’ve got my soul lost
But I’ve got nothing to pretend

Come back old miracle of gold
Through which I could fill all my bones
I’m still a preacher
Even if I’ve lost my path
I need a return
Where my faults can be melted

The noise here can remove
The quietness of the wood
And make so bad my mood

The sky does disapprove
With a grey almost gloom
Instead of the deep blue

It has to exist a knowledge
To make us to discover
A new brand kind of life
We have to look behind
Toward the ancient times
When wood was just a temple

Come back my treasure that I’m blind
Come back my ancient lullaby
I’m still a poor boy
Even if I am now a man
I’ve got my soul lost
But I’ve got nothing to pretend

Come back old miracle of gold
Through which I could fill all my bones
I’m still a preacher
Even if I’ve lost my path
I need a return
Where my faults can be melted

Nell’immagine: Vincent van Gogh 'Woodcutter'

venerdì 23 marzo 2012

Salt I will be


So I am a loser and I’m burning all my dreams
Without any fire
Only thinking of them

Or I can be a lover for an instant or a beat
Accepting a new bet
Maybe this the life…. Or not?

Waiting to see
Water to be
Melted
Salt I will be
To disappear
Forever
…is this our aim?

Don’t know if you’re evil or if you can be an angel
But you make me frightened
Am I almost nothing?

I am not enough to have a literacy heart
To control emotions
That are destroying oceans.. against me

Waiting to see
Water to be
Melted
Salt I will be
To disappear
Forever
…is this our aim?

Dubrovnik – Croatia – 22nd March 2012
Nella foto, vista al tramonto della baia di Dubrovnik

martedì 20 marzo 2012

Made of water











The sun the last of winter
Behind the trees is whistling
As it suggested I’ve to write down its melody

So in this park of Zagreb
I steal pieces of patience
And I try to find inside the peace I need to write

The only thing you can do is to invent you
So many times that the truth can never reach you

‘cause we are shreds of paper in the fire of the life
We have to be of water not to burn for a while

So invent a new you and be surprised of you
‘cause being the same for a life means death for you

And if we’re made of water we can change with seasons
Being iced during the winter and holy rain in the springtime

The energy I’m missing
And that makes me so misery
It’s lost inside this constant bleeding of my mind and soul

Life gives few satisfactions
And less certain directions
Acceptance is the key to bring back my old purity

The only thing you can do is to invent you
So many times that the truth can never reach you

‘cause we are shreds of paper in the fire of the life
We have to be of water not to burn for a while

So invent a new you and be surprised of you
‘cause being the same for a life means death for you

And if we’re made of water we can change with seasons
Being iced during the winter and holy rain in the springtime