Here, the Hell


Here we are, as a part of a gear
that is pain made by pain
girls and women we were and now fear

     Winter days give us shivers
     in this wasteland which quivers
     in this ourselves made hell
     where no one can breathe well

Frozen chains bound the hearts and cold rain
like old blood wets the buds
of black plants on the ground to a drain

     Winter ways and the figures
     of this wasteland which quivers
     lead us to this foul hell
     where I hear that death knell

Life to death again: that is the flood.
Sisters moan among whispers
that strike our ears as can do a stud

     Winter boys give us shivers
     in this wasteland which quivers
     in this themselves made hell
     where they grow rude and swell
 

Now the life changed and it's a whipper:
red wounds filled my skin and my soul
and my tears grow so much… as a river

September, 16th 2017

Italian version

Advertisements

Stormy weather

 

pic by sellsworth, from here

Paris, London, Kabul, Teheran …

 

Stormy weather again on the lake
as the troubles I keep in my mind.
People run to look for some repair;
I still here wait for cool on my face
 

Stormy weather again in this world.
Someone somewhere is preparing wars
in the middle of eastern warm lands
where the mankind knew how to eat grain
 

Stormy weather again in lost towns
where no one understands to see sense
in his acts further what he can see
with his eyes or touch with his own hands
 

Stormy weather again in my soul,
in your one and wherever a man
or a woman can live or can stay.
Without horizon there all falls: rain

 

June, 6th 2017

 

Italian version

Anyway

Pic from here

Anyway
If I think I am right
if I see black as white
If my night is a sigh
and I find not my site

Anyway
If I do not agree
and think that I could be
better me fully free
even if I am a flea

Anyway
when my life almost gone
lies like a bored swan
with no strength, without brawn
without joy and withdrawn

Anyway Easter comes
when You rise again. Does
anyone blind the shine
of the least single sun?

Anyway
You don’t need any pass
to save me from myself.
Let I be not impasse
to my way out, besides

Friday, 14 April 2017

Each bee

 

 

pic from here

 

A crucible of many clichés
dissolves me and I foolishly agree
as dull people who aim to be accepted.
So I too am perverting the words
 

The emotion stirs up any instinct
without producing reasons but cravings.
In the gloomy molasses of cheating
I am what I want be: only a bubble
 

I can see the evil spread in the world,
I am into it, part of it too.
The sense market alters me, as
when tobacco turns in smoke: poison
 

As a prostitute, I resell thinking,
while I’m mixing banal whim drives
with poor aims to be free: only dreams
Yes: each bee deeply hides only a wasp

 

February, 16th 2017

 

Italian version

 

 

Thank you Leda: without you this text, like other stuffs of mine, would be less correct as grammar…

 

They come back

img_1822_web

photo by JB, 2017

Now, again, they come back
piercing soft mosses and dried twigs,
the life buds are a new erect sign,
a new spring maybe possible soon

fast

In my little, thin world,
where I live, in the plant rack, I see
in spite of the wind running still cold
something green now grows up young and strong

fast

Now, again, also I
could be back, as new hope of a start
in spite of all the world evil, strong
maybe spring does my beauty return

soon

February, 9th 2017

Italian translation

Assassin bug

img_8022_web

On my table an assassin bug
goes around, takes a look:
surely a prey it is looking for, now.
It’s so nice yet a thin little monster
that kills

 
Warmer winters let it come here to me
from the south, as the sin
when it enters my mind like a shiver
coming from dark and bad earths of mist

 
when I kill every good in myself

 

November, 22nd 2016