Inipi *

Ho visto le stelle brillare
sulle pietre accese
firmamento ancestrale
proiettato sull'anima.

Ho respirato il fuoco
nell'acqua incandescente
fin dentro le viscere
a bruciare il buio.

* La cerimonia Inipi è la versione Sioux della capanna sudatoria o capanna della purificazione.

Come Cadmo

A stento tocca il sangue
questo sorriso frigido
sottile come la falce
dopo la mietitura
come il sole lebbroso
dei giorni di granito
semina di novembre.

Come Cadmo* ho seguito
i bisbigli dell'oracolo
tra boschi spinati
e serpi acuminate
ma senza trovare
la mia nuova terra
da fortificare.

* Cadmo è un personaggio della mitologia greca, figlio di Agenore, re di Tiro e di Telefassa, nonché fratello di Europa. È considerato il fondatore della città greca di Tebe.

Cloak

LISTEN TO - ASCOLTA








The fog on the wood is the cloak of the seeds
I've prayed for three nights to stop to breath
the total loneliness of Samhain
has shown that my life is into the unease

Drenched into the cold I feel my hackles rise
while I wait in silence for the twilit light
the rustling trees announce a new time
while there is a quarrel between death and life

But remember that after the fog comes always a gleam of sun 
you can't believe under the hood that the light is not far 
and I can see that hint before the cry 
but first of then you have to try 

I feel in these days almost totally unmanned
while I know I should be instead hell-bent
I still have to learn to be supple as sand
to change my shape without changing myself

But remember that after the fog comes always a gleam of sun 
you can't believe under the hood that the light is not far 
and I can see that hint before crying 
but first of then you have to try 

2nd November 2019

The saddest Samhain of all

LISTEN TO - ASCOLTA














There is no light
And it’s cold
Outside and inside my soul

And there is no life
It is death
The only name of my world

It is the saddest Samhain of all

It is so lonely 
It so lonely 
This Samhain 

I am a little man 
Without any hand 
To take care of him 

I must admit
I have lost
My plans are out, my choices wrong

I can’t believe
It’s no more
The time of Faith in some God

It is the saddest Samhain of all

It is so lonely 
It so lonely 
This Samhain 

There is no glory 
And no good story 
To say something 

I am a little man 
Without any hand 
To take care of him 

31st October - 1st November

Last roses before Samhain

LISTEN TO - ASCOLTA








Last roses before Samhain
we're drenched in the warmth
I am so thankful and grateful
to Goddess and to God
I don't know if I deserve
I don't know if I am right
I only know that I am still alive

The Land of Summer goes away fast 
over the west 
before I can 
realize that 

The Land of Winter is giving its hand 
over the fell 
and I can bet 
It is an end 

Last sunny days before
the season will fall and
Samhain is so close
that I can breathe its soul
I don't know if I'm ready
I don't know if I'm me
I only know that gods want me to live

The Land of Summer goes away fast 
over the west 
before I can 
realize that 

The Land of Winter is giving its hand 
over the fell 
and I can bet 
It is an end 

19th October 2019

What if I was here thousand years ago

LISTEN TO - ASCOLTA 








What if I was here thousand years ago
to see or to build these temples?
Under the ground there are still the thoughts
of those who could this magic handle

the ancestors are still present here
their message is still for me

These stones speak about sacrifice 
and of extasy 
I am here 
To catch some rise 
Or some energy 

Now that outside all speaks of nothingness 
Under the ground there is something of true 

What if I was here thousand years ago
to heal myself in these rituals
we have lost this wisdom today at all
but here there is still some residual

the ancestors are still present here
their message is still for me

These stones speak about sacrifice 
and of extasy 
I am here To catch some rise 
Or some energy 

Now that outside all speaks of nothingness 
Under the ground there is something of true 

12th October 2019, Domus de Janas di Anghelu Ruju (nella foto)

Macigni

La pioggia tesse il silenzio
sulla notte, bordo sottile
ma denti freddi grattano
sul muro nebbioso.

L’assenza si fa vetro
scarnifica il sonno
e trasforma le ore
in macigni deformi.