These grey days. 2022th Christmas.

My Christmas scene 2022, today. He will be there only in a few hours. Detail. JB.

A very strange Xmas, this one.

I pray above all for my daughter. Please, Jesus, come again!

Oh, I know you’ll be here again, as i know you’re still here.

Yet show us you. Show us the Beauty. Our beauty too. Please do it!

 

These grey days, this my grey,
this grey that enters us
paint, change it
into a blue hope, please, do!
That’s no peace but sad silence

Her eyes show gloomy sadness,
those eyes,
that were merry and beautiful and
that are beautiful now.
I see dismay and grey in her eyes.
You can change them by showing a path

These black days, this my black
This black that permeates days
paint it, change.
This black that smells as death,
death of those missed, those
that are too many now,
You can lighten with bright green of leaves

You are the light of a world that lost its
meaning during so cold winter night,
groping in useless gestures, grey ones:
so it learnt violence, wars

Get in touch again, now
I await for You, You
come for me, for her and
for everyone too: we are ghosts
of what You would like we can be. We
miss You. Come and light up all, please.
We are waiting for dawn

These grey days, this my grey,
this grey that enters us
paint it, change
otherwise useless passes,
winter of thrills and beauty.
Give us joy and bright colours

 

A very weird December, 24th 2022

 

Italian version

 

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

The photography

 

From those papers your face
and no lost souvenirs of a time
when a sense held up everything
and you were both a shelter and aid
 

Where are you looking at?
Is your day near or far?
Your eyes are focusing beyond us
staring at the last threshold of your
world that you, that’s for sure, there you saw
 

Years have passed but the absence does not.
You come back in the nights, in my dreams
and we talk and it’s usual.
Then I wake up, I see me, I miss you
 

 

March, 21st 2017

Italian version

Father

Spring has came as it uses, no matter
father if you are dying here we leaving.
Father of our lives, Lord I’m praying
for his courage and for our own

Father, Lord, my knees blend to the truth
make me real like your breath which can’t see
build me finally free of myself
make me alive as my dad as you want

Monday, 19 March 2012