Adelda
A mother (not to forget) So many times I sang
dawn
without ever witnessed the birth of the sun.
The clock of the lane marks the minutes, with shots
dried
... in the silence, echoing the sound ...
For me courage, and divert dark thoughts, I look
frenzy that comes after a sleepless night, I know
that vision of indescribable beauty,
but I never lived,
and you, my seventy-three reasons not to sleep ,
with an elongated body in a hospital bed, you toss
, murmuring incomprehensible words:
time travel,
in your past that I do not know.
I look at you with tenderness and apprehension.
's inevitable that my eyes
add other stars at night.
The hours stretched its tentacles beyond measure
and fall into a state of perpetual eve
(I can not see beyond the black padding that surrounds
the entire lane
... the clock breaks the silence with three strokes
so slow as to seem inaccessible to each other ... I wonder if
behind the eyelids,
frenzied flapping,
a horse, the reins loose, chasing the rainbow
or the storm, if
raises his eyes to heaven or rebelling
lies in agony;
will sell your dark to light?
... and I seem to hear a whinny
pierce the vault of heaven ...) or I
dominates the memory of the day after the party
and I wonder if, as before,
the sum of beams of light filter between
from the clouds split open like wounds will form even if
the cone of rays that
mo 'of cornucopia, drooling hybrid colors,
embraced the island, there, in skiing;
and if there will be the light rain that started
from the sea in the mornings of clear days.
pierces the clouds, life answers,
and imperious is the desire of
still suffer the usual words of welcome:
"your arrival brings the nice weather," you told me on the balcony overlooking
filled with geraniums, as I mentioned the
your islands,
a crown of the same gulf
is now ready to be colored
the explosion of another sunrise, and
calls them by name ... "so clear close've never seen "
and told me it was almost an initiation rite to my visits ...
(I have not found any explanation for the occurrence of those wonderful days on time, as if the secret got out a schedule for our meetings)
The dawn is near, and the mist clears its thickness,
a range of subtle colors form the essence, time
vibrant and feathery,
between past and future.
dawn will soon be beautiful, and I
you the gift, but now
is opened up in the dawn sky,
abandoning the secret network of night images
through shimmering visions of truth.
remember
yesterday and the day before yesterday it rained incessantly.
two days there are wrinkles around your lips
(a grating that controls the rhythm of the breath, to keep it from escaping
or maybe you're annoyed by the rain
that somehow nullifies our intimate ceremony) will not cease the
and our wonder will be repeated again, because we want to, because I want
;
from the east and the glow of rebirth
already fills the sky.
Dress explicit calls to create resonance and echoes a new day, and slowly opens
my pain, while
expect to expand the circles in the water,
that a network of spider capture the green foam,
that the sky turns pink
... as it is written, and I've read ...
but the hills hide a show unsuspected, unexpected, and wonderful
exploding orange disc burning
prelude to his plan of life and
... I need this message for you and me.
The day of doubt, request fierce
the unanswered question,
one of the many days when the desire fades, does not recur.
not travel more in the cases unresolved,
life in servitude to the totalitarian and mistress.
for not wanting this,
suffered through clenched teeth,
on the road already traveled gentle souls you leave,
hours of secret images
memories ... I listen to your heavy breathing ... and what I
is not enough to erase the night
because my fickle mood as the horizon of thought
rusty shadows that
expand, advance, to overwhelm
absorb the fluffy whiteness of the moon on the horizon yet.
Life is old and tired.
E, pensive and anxious, control your sleep,
you're not a stranger, the man I love begotten
... and I have no power to give relief to you that I
accettasti
unconditionally ... I just dawn hope to dye my eyes
of who looks at you lovingly.
Franca
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