I hear your music.
Your silent symphony
explodes in my head,
and the sound
shivers on my spine
rolling on my back,
until it flows
along my arms
in my hands.
A thousand words,
unsaid,
color their meaning
in the deafening noise
of a mute discourse.
I will continue to
talk to you
even if trapped
into an hopeless
silence.
venerdì 22 luglio 2011
martedì 12 luglio 2011
the sluggishness
The sluggishness of a day,
passionate in vain,
catches me unexpected,
and the air of a new fall
surprises me again.
The sun in its envious turning
flatters me with an embrace.
Late season,
ultimate attempt
of languorous mildness.
I observe myself crying ,
and I don’t see my face.
How have I been able to
not recognize myself
in my true nature?
I can’t say I’ve gotten lost,
because I don’t know
if through the flowing of time,
I have ever been able
to find myself.
I live halfway
suspended in an undefined space,
in the acute percipience
of my senses,
being on the alert.
I am going away,
I leave myself.
My strength slowly
extinguishes itself,
engulfed by still parasites.
Eyes more empty,
a more tired heart,
my mind chases after
my soul in its
failed outbursts.
That’s why I survive
under this sick sun,
driving myself back,
refusing myself
the colour of a thought.
passionate in vain,
catches me unexpected,
and the air of a new fall
surprises me again.
The sun in its envious turning
flatters me with an embrace.
Late season,
ultimate attempt
of languorous mildness.
I observe myself crying ,
and I don’t see my face.
How have I been able to
not recognize myself
in my true nature?
I can’t say I’ve gotten lost,
because I don’t know
if through the flowing of time,
I have ever been able
to find myself.
I live halfway
suspended in an undefined space,
in the acute percipience
of my senses,
being on the alert.
I am going away,
I leave myself.
My strength slowly
extinguishes itself,
engulfed by still parasites.
Eyes more empty,
a more tired heart,
my mind chases after
my soul in its
failed outbursts.
That’s why I survive
under this sick sun,
driving myself back,
refusing myself
the colour of a thought.
Etichette:
poetry
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