To my poor friend


 

I’m not able to work today. I always control my mail and your blog.
My soul is emplty, full of fog.
My eyes are wet.
My heart is somewhere, lost, painful.

I was so selfish and so cruel to you: I was your evil. I knew it.
I did it anyhow.
In my language, it’s a mortal sin.
I built your evil. I hurt you.
Let me dedicate to you this song by Vasco Rossi, sang by Fiorella Mannoia.

 

That’s my bad translation of the lyric.

Sally walks on the street even without
looking at the ground
Sally is a woman who no longer wants
to make war
Sally has suffered too much
Sally has already seen what
can collapse upon her
Sally was already punished
for each distraction and weakness
for each honest caress
given just to not feel bitterness

Feel that it’s raining outdoor
feel its so nice noise

Sally walks on the road and she’s firm
thinking about nothing
by now she looks at the people
with indifferent manner
those moments when a glance moved upsets
and when life was easier
and strawberries could also be eaten are far away
because life is a shiver that flies away
it’s all a balance around the madness
around the madness

Feel that it’s raining outdoor
feel its so nice noise

Yet, Sally, maybe is just this the sense, the sense
of your wandering
maybe really we must feel ourselves
a little bad at the end
maybe at the end of this sad story
someone will find his courage
to face the sense of guilt
and delete them off from this trip
to really live each instant
and every its upset
as it were the last one

Sally walks on the road with light steps
now it is evening
the streetlights lights up
all the people run to home in front of their televisions
and a seed comes into her mind
maybe her life was not completely lost
maybe something was saved
maybe really not everything was wrong
maybe it was right so
maybe, maybe yes
What do you want I tell you?

feel that so nice noise

Advertisements

6 comments on “To my poor friend

  1. Shhhh :* says:

    I can remember a rose. I deserve thorns for all your sweet tears. You are a rose but the thorns aren’t yours. I’m here, forever and… I found your lost heart. Blow the fog away and watch the Sun again! (Forgive me, black kitten)

    Like

  2. judybarton says:

    Stop it, please, I have nothing to forgive. I know it, I’m sure about it: all the evil was mine.
    Was from me.
    Was me.
    The bad one was (am) me.
    I know that also now I’m torturing you.
    I am torturing you with all these silly, not useful, words.

    We cannot live in a dream.
    Trust in me: we cannot live there, because that place does not exists!

    And, yes, I am confused. I’m so confused. I am the fog.
    I am my own fog.

    I’m writing crazy stuff at random on all my blogs, without sense. I am disturbing with silly thoughts my friends. I wrote letters to an old friend who probably no more remembers anything about me.
    I cannot tell what now is happening to the only person who could help me.

    My life goes on as usual at home, at my work, with the people I meet.
    The mirror shows me the usual ugly face, the same face, my usual face, the face I hate, maybe only a little tired, yet it is very difficult to see what I really have into my mind, where is truly going to my brain, if there are emotions into me. Some emotions. Any emotion.

    Do you know the truth? My head is breaking.
    My head is breaking into two different halves.
    My mind is splitting.

    Which one am I?
    The silly young one, Judy, the one who likes seeing herself as a little black cat, the one who cannot stop to write her stuffs … the one you met? Or am I the other one … the serious one, the Italian old woman, the one who does not speak English, the one who never shows her emotions, the one that never will write poems, never! … The one that never will show her true deep face without any mask?

    Am I the happy one often in her silly-mode or am I the other one, the woman so clever, the respectable and respected one, who works so hard, so hard, so hard … until she forgets herself? Until she can forgive herself too?

    Which one I should be? Which one is better and which one is worse?
    Which one I must be?

    Long time ago someone said me “I’m just here, in front of you, and I am waiting for your best one at last could go out from you. Please, do it quickly!

    Nothing happened.

    Moreover … am I sure that I have only two people into my mind? Am I sure that there are not a real crowd who knocks on my throat to cry, to exit from my mouth, from this wrinkled sack made by skin?
    Yes: perhaps not even I know how many I am.

    I know that illness: I already saw it into me.

    I hate doctors.

    I like wine.

    Like

  3. Sharrow says:

    Hey, let’s drunk together then! The headache can wait!

    Like

  4. Sharrow says:

    Oh ciao, I’m here again (you can’t be sleeping till I’m here)
    So…I like caressing silly young black kittens and this can make them happy and they are purring
    And my mom told me always: “Always help old ladies to move up the road to another side” but added, after a short pause “…but will be good if you will ask her before it, cos maybe she is looks around”. After then that sweet old lady will be happy (but maybe won’t purring 😀 )
    I’m waiting now and watch. Maybe the Signora will turn back 😀

    Like

Leave a Reply to Sharrow Cancel reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s