The rope

pics by JB 2017

 

Strange world, so different
from mine

All the skyline is changing: the city
is rebuilding herself without worry
about old stones. A church
sadly rests in the shadow

Over me there’s a climber, a worker
on an ice building made with glass, steel.
He clings on overhanging surfaces
without fear: in a thin rope he trusts

Strange people, so different
from mine

I like your so laborious constancy,
your smart way to be alive organised
I am only a poor provincial person
and can’t try to explain my sensations

I don’t know what you tell me while speak
your strange language or where is your God,
where you really are going toward,
what you quite want to build with your love

In the cold morning where I am walking
also I overhang all my claims
and a rope from above is my hope
to be safe despite bad, foolish drives

I am like those church wrecks on the tarmac
under new, haughty, bright towers now.
I beg that all these ropes can hold up
you and me. Can the hope bear our weight
 

London, April, 19th 2017

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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

Blackbird

Photo from wikipedia

Privet fragrance floods me in the garden
sweet as a caress during the night
when I can find comfort and my flesh
feels relax and the spasm soon collaps

As a young blackbird my poor soul scampers
looking deeply in the life grass for something
that is precious and worth to live with.
I am caught by an odd happy peace

My skin shrivels and my legs lost their
strength together with their youthful pride
yet a new and strange hope now grows up.
I am lovely when I climb my anger

May, 29th 2016

 

Thank you dear Marina: I did not know this beautiful song. Fly, blackbird, fly!

Italian version

Te Deum

 

Malles_web

 

Can you see? An year tonight, another
runs away
and it vanishes soon. Fast.
The time’s tangle
snarls itself then grabs it
to drag it far away
where the silence is silent.

And me …
… Here I am and resist, with my face
masked, clothed
by pale flesh
sometimes there is a smile, or a frown,
or just nothing

And you?
Like me, in the tangle
of this everything passing
in the gray
of the fog and of me:
all things off

And us?
Anyway we go walking,
in the fog, in the time, in the pallors
of the quivering flesh
and more grave,
full with faces and facts, Hope
and surprise and so beautiful
and surprised
our Hope

 

December, 31st 2015

 

Go here for the Italian version