Cicadas

Photo by JB, 2017

 

Fussy noise by cicadas invades me
and comes down from the top of old cedars
growing through my mind and all the garden,
paroxysm in the heat of today

It’s a summer’s sign and marks this time
that regenerates futile instincts
to the love that fades always at night.
I long for complete fullness of days

 

July, 6th 2018

 

Italian version

 

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Yellow straw

Photo by JB, 2018

 

Yellow straw tells me old story
about seasons and work, about fruits
Now it dries at the sun, useless, dead
tired gold poured down on the fields
 

You cut straws for me once, in my prime,
inside mature wheat stem, in the summer,
you told me about butterflies, bees
leading so my young life to its bloom
 

Now I am in the evening of days,
as sail broken by slaps of bad wind.
I know that you are alive and you are better
yet I wish here your strength, your strong hand

July, 4th 2018

 

Italian version

Reed flute

Pic from here

 

Rumi (1207-1273), Persian poet and mystic

 

Any reed will regret her old swamp
where she was born among sister reeds.
Now she is moaning with sweet music and
whoever hear her remembers that pain
 

We are stagnant in this stifling air
while we are going through these tired sedges.
Any color today is a pale viola
secular sobriety without hope

 

March, 8th 2018

 

 

Italian version

 

 

Modest redstart

Photo by JB, 2018

 

Modest redstart watches me behind
old wisterias and then comes down here
on loose gravel where frisks looking something
at the ground as I too often do
 

I feel birds’ joy and freshness that chirps
in the clear and bright light of the day
while I smoke slowly thoughts in the shadow.
Just this moment is beautiful God

 

June, 15th 2018

 

Italian version

 

Dawn and sunset

 

Photo by JB, 2016

 

Maybe dawn can resolve any sunset,
vain world travel towards the main night
who wins us every day anyway,
like the nothing that dries up each thing
 

“Never” as well as “always” is not
nested word into mankind assets.
Someone else can define the absolute
and He lives it without a beginning
 

You elect me, my free jump provoking
as can water do running towards
fields that drink and give us their green life.
So I am if I belong to You
 

Beyond any idea, craving, wish
about what I believe and I can
You make me something possible, life.
Yes, You’re dawn that resolve sunset, night

 

Rimini, April, 20th 2018

 

Italian version

Wallflower

Photo by JB, 2018

 

Stock plant uses violence against silence
of the moderate stones that grasp greedy
tonight breaths of last sun on the hill.
Soon we’ll go back to Italy again
 

You’ll stay here, where you work, maybe for
a year that you’ll add to prior ones.
You’ll stay here to prepare your main hope
that is future and family: news
 

It is hard letting you could do it
like the wallflower lives on the stones
near the time marked there, on the tower
of the closed nice church. Never mind.
 

It is difficult standing apart,
son, and let you go, who knows…there
on each unknown road, you so, so new,
while we are old and heavy and closed
 

Our greatest strong prayer you are
you, together with your sister young.
May God help you to be, to be better
than I am, I who now line up rubble

 

Montferrier sur Lez, April, 4th 2018

 

Italian version