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

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

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)

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

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.

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

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