Another birthday

From the The seventh seal, by Ingmar Bergman

The time’s torment is like a deep carving
in the cruel reflection of mirrors,
it’s a spit on the glass and it steams up
every clear cut view of real world

The time falling is sunset, my time;
each mistake I did sits on a pile
of dumb cues now lost far in the past
and I worry about remaining days

The time sunset is like a ship stranded
where dreams crush and stub out and the eyes
wake-up to the nothing that haunts
my end and both the end of the world

March, around 14th 2018

Italian version


Empty mind

Pic by JB, 2018


Empty mind with no thoughts
doesn’t know what I am
lost in silly streams made
by mist, details and fog

Snow came, snow soon has gone
so the ground is back brown
mix of mud and fresh hopes
of sense and better days

A life’s breath splits the clouds
that invade all the things’
and thoughts’ space

In the winter’s cold March
can grow up

Italian version
March, 4th 2018

Black fires

Picture from here


I remember your eyes as two fires
even if black as black was the cape
that hid everywhere your face and the body
years ago, there, in the underground train

You seemed proud and contemptuous about
myself and all my so perverse world
too much free or perhaps I hurt you
staring at your so lovely eyes

You were Arab, maybe, anyway
from another world; you seemed me
really beautiful, so upright and sure
to be better than us, flabby and weak

I don’t know when I saw you, the year
when we met on that train, far in time.
In those days we had no fear or suspicion
about evil intention by Islam

Then the towers, the wars and the crazy
attacks made by your people … by you?
Our planet was wide at that time
now each thing changes and the Earth is so small


January, 16th 2018

Italian version

I need silence

JB, 2013


I need silence
and cold.

I need time
to sink watches
I need time
to stop time
I seek thoughts
to kill thoughts.

I find
only empty bad thoughts
I find evil
the evil I am.

I was selfish and cruel
I need silence and cold
to freeze fantasies
So the emotions
can turn themselves to ice.

I need glasses
to see better me
I need ice glasses to
freeze my heart
to survive
Bye for now
bye dear friend


January, 30th 2018

Avatar’s dew

I found this photo here


Ok: that so dear friend told me something about another meaning of the word “dew” in Japanese language.
I wrote this stuff for that friend …


You were smile of the dew
upon green winter grass
You were light happy rain
in my spring among nights

You were dream in my life
that runs fast toward death.
That’s my sin: to be there
empty mask withouth flesh


February, 1st 2018

On the radio – A photo by Karma Weymann

On the radio, work by Karma Weymann


She is lost in a sad radio sound
lovely girl, young pale skin without shame
maybe thinking at something as blame
maybe waiting for someone as bound

She is lost in a past radio sound
looking at somewhere, when she had claim
to be happy, alive, when her aim
was to be owned, taken, so wound

She is lost in a love as a bound
stockings are as red passion, as flame
her chest needs to be handled: the frame
of a lost true big love never found

I am lost in a sweet dream, a song
from the past, lovely friend with no shame,
I am thinking to you as a flame.
We could think to be love, to be bound

We were lost in a sad radio sound.
I could not more be lie in a frame
where now each thing is changing to pain.
I want that you be happy and not wrong


SL, Blacklabel Exhibition, January, 27-28th 2018

Wrong crossroads

Photo by J.B., 2018

This stuff can be considered my own version of some verses
red in a beautiful poem by Marina Raccanelli, where she writes in Italian

ora che il vento ci spinge
verso incroci sbagliati
sentieri senza biforcazioni

That is:

now when the wind drives us
toward wrong crossroads
paths without junctions

Marina shares her poem just when I am in a wrong crossroad, so her words move me so much …
Thank you Marina and forgive me that stole your words!


Silly wind of emotion led us
to the peace of impossible land
whilst we lost reason and real things

The same wind now drives us toward there,
to wrong crossroads, mad paths, where we don’t
see nor junctions nor truth nor ourselves

There, where our emotion is dead
as a bird hurled against the glass,
where the window is closing our dream

Here now only there’s silence and fog.


January, 29th 2018