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

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Now my bed turns to gold

JB 2017

 

Now
gold and light make together my bed.
Yellow, orange and blue paint sharp drawings
demonstrating an order, a sense
After the confused darkness of winter

 
Rich in gold and so precious my bed,
it is like when you touch my nude skin,
You, the sweet love that lives in my depths.
I feel peace overnight, when I’m sleeping

 
Now my bed turns to gold and it shines
as the light in the room and reflects
my thoughts full of the warmth of affection.
You are my spring and you scatter my winter

 

May, 31th 2015

 

Italian version

Red cachemire

 

JB, 2017

 

You paint using so sinuous thoughts
every night all my night and my skin
quivers, trembles and asks for caresses
as she was still young and gets upset

 
Spring is trap and a danger for minds,
it’s a fire, it’s as scattered poppies
like the blood of a young woman when
she surrenders and gives her to love

 
In the winter I wanted my bed
red and I doodle my unsure dreams
every dawn as in cashmere designs
when you go far and I think alone

 
I don’t fulfil you, you don’t to me, neither
it’s enough this flesh for the immense wish
that you open wide as the blue does
when it breaks the clouds and at last shines

 

May, 9th 2017

 

Italian version

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

She & me. Part two: me

img_5819_web

photo by me, 2015

2. Me

I have no leaves on my branches. My skin
becomes dry with the wind of the winter
that strips it both of love and belief
of each good verifying caresses
 

I’m a shiver. I ask for the Moon,
soft light twisting to my dry cold body
when I lie without words in the shadows
of all my gloomy thoughts built by absence
 

I lost feelings of sweetness and love
in the mist, which shades off farther here
any mountains and beauty semblances.
I’m a poor land, earth of little substance
 

I am the servant of demented cravings
to which I bend down, looking for toys
in my nothing. A diaphanous whisper
coats my flesh almost lifeless
 

 November, 28th 2016

Italian version

She & me. Part one

img_5819_web

photo by me, 2015

  1. She

 I have no leaves on my branches. My skin
realizes shiny drops of the rain
and they flow, as tears lost,
breaths of frozen white steam
 

I’m a shiver. I ask for the Moon
as my peace. I’m so tired. I crouch down
on the earth: I’m rejection of blue.
You hurt me with your coarse awful gaze
 

I lost feelings of sweetness and love
in the mist, which shades off farther here
any mountains and beauty semblances.
I’m as goods that have little substance
 

I am the servant of demented cravings
to which I bend down, like poor toy.
I am nothing. A diaphanous whisper
coats my flesh almost lifeless

November, 28th 2016

 

Italian version
 

Silence

OK. I had a beautiful photo, with Venus and the blue sky and the black spruce. That photo was born near Bergamo, together with these words.
Ok: I am silly and I deleted it.

This photo comes from here

I look at Venus that shines, it’s shining
solitude and ice frost blue mountains.
The dark deep sky is sapphire and cools down
the clear air. All around is still silence
 

A spruce is a black silhouette; it stays up
upright, lifeless and without each thought.
The night dyes a desert with its shadows
and I breath only this silence. Silence

December, 27th 2016

 

Italian version