Far from this sad mob

I’ve called my Faith just “freedom”
And it’s a way
Not a fixed position
Reached forever

But I see many people
Speaking of Faith
As only a tool to measure
Their own power

And this kills my soul
Kills my soul

While people in the name of the Faith 
Love to discriminate the others 
I write in this evening a prayer 
To ask God to give me another 

New world to go 
Far from this sad mob 
And I hide my hope 
Inside my deep soul 

And this night was called Imbolc
By the ancients Celts
The moment when the little
Cubs can be blessed

In such a bad condition
Among dissemblers
All the sacred is injured
In the name of no sense

And this kills my soul
Kills my soul

While people in the name of the Faith 
Love to discriminate the others 
I write in this evening a prayer 
To ask God to me give another 

New world to go 
Far from this sad mob 
And I hide my hope 
Inside my deep soul

Without certainty

I’m a sad man
That can’t understand the trick that makes
The life so good

I am trying
Since my birth during that summer but
I miss the truth

You can ask to me 
How did I become me 
I can answer you 
I have tried many truths 

I’ve only my feet 
To walk thousand of paths 
And nobody is 
Showing the right to me 

I feel without certainty 

Though I’ve answered
To the calls of all these long years
Without qualms

Now I’ve become
Many different troubled men into
Only a body

You can ask to me 
How did I become me 
I can answer you 
I have tried many truths 

I’ve only my feet 
To walk thousand of paths 
And nobody is 
Showing the right to me 

I feel without certainty

A sort of crime

Life is only a big addiction
And every day we are more in
It’s clear we all live in a fiction
But we believe we can be free

We draw only circles so vicious
And then we try always to flee
I believe there’s some kind of mission
But until now I have not found it

And we can have some wonderful times 
While the others are crawling in cries 
Is this a sort of crime? 

We feel cultured but we’re almost blind 
This is suited to live better life 
While world is going to die 

And today I read a book
Speaking of our common roots
In the continent we’re born
The only word today is “war”

Africa’s lost in the mug
Of the no sense and the blood
We think we are here so far
But they are the same of us

And we can have some wonderful times 
While the others are crawling in cries 
Is this a sort of crime? 

We feel cultured but we’re almost blind 
This is suited to live better life 
While world is going to die 

Nella foto: Lago Vittoria, Rwanda

When the things go wrong

Always my faith in the wood
Do not leave me alone
Furthermore as I feel oh so down

Also now that I am far
I imagine to walk
In the places where my soul was born

The leaves are like mingles
They can give me wisdom 
I learn to die 

Cause when the things go wrong 
That I’ve to become strong 
It’s when the things go wrong 
And I’ve to do it by my own 

I can collect my bones 
I count one two three four 
And all the muscles can 
Become like sacred undergrowth 

I feel I have still my eyes
The only thing never changed
A part from my so personal faith

Into the iris I see
Still the trees in the wind
And the glades during the holy feasts

The leaves are like mingles 
They can give me wisdom 
I learn to die 

Cause when the things go wrong 
That I’ve to become strong 
It’s when the things go wrong 
And I’ve to do it by my own 

I can collect my bones 
I count one two three four 
And all the muscles can 
Become like sacred undergrowth

Nel libeccio

Quando la sera soffia
l’inverno sa urlare
vita
nelle mie orecchie sorde
e il cielo si popola di sembianze
a cui non appartengo più.

Ma io vorrei
Appartenere

A questa falce araba
che taglia il cielo
a questo vento mite
che annega i sensi
a questo uomo solo
riflesso sul vetro.

Sono chilometri di carta
fitta di parole
in attesa di essere strappato
e buttato nel libeccio.

Rivelazioni

In queste sere di rivelazione
sento i piedi immersi nel ghiaccio
e fuggo nella stanza più piccola
per sentirmi meno microscopico

I secondi son distillati d'anni
che bevo con lussuria calcolata
annusando con la lingua in punta
l'intensità d'ogni sorda lacrima

E sul collo il fiato del futuro
intreccia sogni tra i miei capelli
mentre con gli occhi disincantati
disegno metope di firmamento