Precious love

 

My Precious love can only come from above
In unity is born a kiss of dignity
My Precious love will only come from above
And there you wish away
And with the least they met
You love better
Precious love
Precious love
Precious love
Precious love
Precious love
Precious love
Precious love
Precious love
Precious love
Precious love

Space weaver,
by Lisa Gerrard

My friend Kristine Blackadder told me about a strange song: Space weaver, by Lisa Gerrard. I listened to that song and saw its video. A woman dances, alone in an empty space; she wears a very large black dress. She keeps her hands near her hips and her arms are bent, so I can imagine two eyes, two gaps of light in the black of a mask. Her body is also bent, as to simulate a nose protruding from a mask.
A black mask.
The song flows and the woman dances until that mask seems to vanish and the woman becomes what she really is: a woman.
She becomes herself, without any mask and far from any dream.
An expression recurs obsessively, maybe as a prayer invocation, surely as expression of ineffable desire: Precious love. It is repeated twelve times.
Well… that’s my true love story.
Because my precious love came me from above.
Because when I met my precious love I found myself as unity.
Because my precious love gave and gives me dignity.
Because dignity and love grew and grow again as unity.
Because I saw and see what to love means.
Because I became me, taking off any mask.

Maybe the linden tree

 

I found that pic here

 

My dear friend Sharrow told me something about this stuff, so I changed something in it.

Thank you, Sharrow!

 

Maybe is this soft sweetness of linden
that spreads itself around in the air
into the already warm night of May

like strong wine which confuses my mind,
 

Maybe is this May sudden sun which
draws my linden out from the sleep where
I lay lazy, old and tired too
as I am a dry clod far from all
 

Maybe it’s this my spring that May slips
into me and so my blood again
boils renewed and alive. A tear melts
all my masks. Look at me: I am yours
 

I feel a deep peace into my womb
barren and running toward the nothing.
Now, please, move stronger me and push me
deeply to the way we are looking for
 

 

May, 28th 2017

 

Italian version

 

Previous version:

Maybe is this lime tree and its sweetness,
like strong wine which confuses my mind,
that spreads itself around in the air
into the already warm night of May
 

Maybe is this May sudden sun which
draws my lime out from the sleep where I
vegetate so old and tired too
as I am a dry clod far from all
 

Maybe it’s this my spring that May slips
into me and so my blood again
boils renewed and alive. A tear melts
all my masks. Look at me: I am yours
 

I feel a deep peace into my womb
barren and running toward the nothing.
Now, please, move stronger me and push me
deeply to the way we are looking for

I am faded

img_1765_web

photo by J.B., 2016

Now I’m faded as autumn brown leaf
after blushing with her last day's fire
after green, sun, wind, sky, free life style
now I’m faded,

                I’m autumn.
    
              Enough

seeing mirrors, enough seeing masks.
After needing to run I need peace,
slow long love days in which to be nice.
That’s my prayer and that’s what I ask

November, 15th 2016

 

Thank to my friends Leda and Lemonodo for their suggestions!

Italian version

Dark and light – part two

img_1355_web

Photo by Judy Barton, 2009

 

As I am, you will always can see.
I should be slutness, darkness,
curse against life and God, for I’m bad
when alone with my flesh: that’s my cry
 
 
Sometimes I am my beast; I could list
all my evils and sins full of nights,
grown as wrinkles which hope to be smooth.
But I’m a devoted bride, I’m a wife
 
 

I’m my skin and my grey shadow, sad,
but you can turn me into bright light.
Don’t you let me alone with my crowds
deep inside my corrupt and fool mind
 
 

As I am, you will always may see.
I am often impervious to the others:
To avoid any abuse, I’m my mask,
but you can free myself from my nights
 
 

Please, now take me, breathe me and my mind
even if I can choke who sighs so
close to me. You take me, here, now, just!
I’m poor thing, nothing else, without love

 

September,11th 2016

 

Italian version

Dark and light – part one

 

As I am, none will ever see me.
Maybe shy, I am slutness that whispers
curses yet sighing God: yes, I’m bad.
I’m my flesh and my shivers. I’m my cry.

Sometimes I am my beast, all my beasts,
or my breast seeking cuddles the nights
and my wrinkles which hope to be smooth.
But I’m a devoted bride, I’m a wife

I’m my skin, I’m my dark shadow, sad,
even if I can be true good light.
I’m alone among crowds. I am crowd
inside corrupt fool mind. Into me.

As I am, none will ever see me.
I am tough and impervious to the others.
To avoid any abuse, I’m my mask:
no one walks nude at night in the streets

Please, now take me, breathe me and my mind
even if I can choke who sighs so
close to me. You take me, here, now, just!
I’m poor thing, nothing else, without love

 

September,11th 2016

 

Italian version

Bones


Simone Baschenis, 1539 Danza macabra, St.Vigilio Church, Pinzolo

 

Bones made boards, dreams
just are crumbs,
sterile bridges to nowhere land always
crushed hopes which soon and fast fly
from the things. They are wrecks in the night

 

Fancies tie up in bundles themselves
heteronyms and so faded masks.
Without flesh any ivory appearance
of the life has the colour of death

 

SL, Enoki, June, 18th 2016

 

Italian version

Hoverfly

overfly

OK: I tried do get a photo really like this one, but the sun was not gentle with me… grrrrrrrrrr… so I found this beautiful picture here. Thank you Gianni!

 

Mask of useful bee I too wear
like a hoverfly on a white flower
I put on such a stubborn mimesis
to walk hidden around all the world

My invisible nature requires
gestures, feelings and angry love hopes
Also Judy is a mask and true skin
does not cover this emotion’s software

 

April, 25 2016

 
Italian version