Senza lacrime - Without tears- Sans larmes

 Senza lacrime

Attendere ogni giorno che il sole sorga,

Il principio di un’alba,

Nel cuore della notte hai tempo per dimenticare te stesso.

Nel disincanto freddo

Del vuoto che hai lasciato

A imputridire ferite scoperte,

ci ho creduto, sebbene irreale.

Cosa è veramente impossibile?

ho voluto illudermi che una strana magia 

potesse rischiarare i miei pensieri

ed effondere in me quel calore di cui avevo bisogno

per scordarmi di quest’anima triste, spesso incompresa,

senza spazio, senza espressione.

Inseguire chimere

Di leggerezze e vanità

D’ilarità e gioia

E pago pur sapendo che non troverò risposta ai miei perché

 perché credo che la speranza non possa morire

Che troveremo tutti un giorno un’ oasi per poterci proteggere

E in cui le nostre anime finalmente si potranno toccare

Congiungersi in un idillio onirico,

nonostante brancoli nel buio sola.

È quando fai i conti con te stessa che nessuno ti può aiutare.

Scardinare le paure e giocarsi tutto.

Vincere o essere fuori dai giochi.per sempre.

Per spezzare le catene di questo tunnel

Di cui, cieca,non riesco a intravedere la fine.

Il tuo amore mi avrebbe dato coraggio

Ma combatto contro la tua assenza

E mi angoscio il ventre in un malsano spirito d’avventura

Che non mi è mai appartenuto.

Vorrei una casa.

Senza lacrime.

----

Without tears   

Holding on everyday that the sun rises up,

the very beginning of a dawn.

In the heart of the night you find out time to forget yourself.

In the frozen disenchantment

Of the void you’ve left

To decay uncovered scars,

I’ve trusted in it, although surreal.

What’s really impossible?

I’ve wanted to delude myself that such a strange kind of magic

Could brighten up my thoughts

And pour out on me that warmth that I’ve needed 

Forgetting this sad, often misunderstood, soul,

Without space, without expression.

Running after chimeras

Of lightness and vanity

Of hilarity and joy...

And I pay out, well knowing that I won’t find an answer to my questions

Because I believe that hope can’t die

That everyone will find one day an oasis to protect themselves

And where our souls could finally touch each other

could reconnect themselves in an oneiric idyll,

although I fumble in the darkness, alone.

It’s when you come to terms with yourself that you realize that nobody can’t help you.

To unhinge the fears and to play everything.

To win or to be out of the games. Forever.

To break down the chains of this tunnel

Whose, blind, I can’t glimpse the end.

Your love would have given to me the courage

But I fight against your absence

And I grieve my womb in an unhealthy spirit of adventure

That has never belonged to me

I ‘d like a home.

With no tears.

----

Sans larmes

 Attendre tous les jours que le soleil monte,

Le principe d’une aube.

Dans le coeur de la nuit tu as le temps pour oublier toi meme.

Dans le froid désenchantement

Du vide que tu as laissé

À pourrir plaies ouvertes,

j’y crois, si bien irréel.

Quoi est vraiment impossible?

J’ai voulu me tromper que une étrange magie

Porrai éclairer mes pensées

Et  déverser en moi  quelle chaleur dont j’avais besoin

Pour oublier cette âme triste, souvent mal comprise,

Sans éspace, sans expression.

Courir après le vent, poursuivre chimères

De légèreté et vanité

D’hilarité et joie

Et je paye, malgré je sais que je ne trouverai pas des réponses à mes questions,

Parce que je crois que l’ésperance ne peut pas mourir

Que tous nous trouverons un jour une oasis pour nous protéger

Et où nos âmes finalement se puissent toucher

Se rejoindre dans un idylle onirique,

malgré je tâtonne dans le noir, toute seule.

C’est lorsque tu fais face à toi même que personne peut t’aider.

Désarticuler les peurs et se jouer  tout.

Dagner où être dehors des jeux. pour toujours.

Pour briser les chaînes de ce tunnel

dont, aveugle, je ne peux pas apercevoir la fin.

Ton amour m’aurait donné le courage

Mais je lutte contre ton absence

Et je m’inquiéte le ventre dans un malade ésprit d’aventure

Qui ne m’a jamais appartenu.

Je voudrais une maison.

Sans larmes.

 

Kate Moss: a wordly acclaimed ambassador of British fashion style

 

Since the ‘90s when started to be highlighted into the spotlight the role of the models on the stage and the cult of models personalities,  no more considered just as mannequins but that lured the public eye for the way they interpreted wearing dresses and coutumiers communicative messages by their custom-tailored collections, Kate Moss icon of beauty cannot be left behind, being an outstanding example of what British fashion style means, bringing it to the world.

Emblem of the skinny and slender size and a minimalistic fashion trend, she hark us back to the concept of essentialism and to the core elements of the mannequin psychology of donning outfits with a hint of simplicity and neutral, natural approach. Paradoxically, talking about Miss Moss it’s not proper referring to a sort of anonymity and transparency by the way she could distinguish herself and as the cold but straight charme left an indelible mark on the international catwalks (New York, Paris, Milan…)she threaded upon and on more of 300 glossy paper magazines, such as Vogue, Elle, Vanity Fair, GQ, etc.

Symbol of a candid austerity she painted of lightness the grey London skies, letting us feel the slightness beyond the numbs, jumping out of rigorousness, the strictness and narrow mentality by a genuine naivety on the street as well as on the runaways. It’s extraordinary, in fact, her embodied interpretation of mental and physical detachment from all what’s around her, in any case or circumstances, riding the wave of the hustle and bustle and hitting hard the ground of the showbiz industry  she managed with a next door girl, pure and simple smile that doesn’t forget a strong spirit of sacrifice stretched to the bones  and dedication. Her constant passion for perfection pushes her to work hard on her body and mind, by practising several  hours and hours a day  sport activities and daily workout and to severely control diet and nutritional intakes, embolding rationality upon greediness. Going beyond the harshness of the critics all the stars can’t avoid to deal with, the accusation of inciting teenagers to anorexic habits and demeneors and some sort of addiction as smoking or making occasional use of cocaine to help her standing still, she has demonstrated to fly high over the provocations of a world of information that however has never hatred her , on the contrary has always adored her sense of self- containment, gentleness and class, showing to simply enjoy life and to be an exceptional partygoers and friendly mate of other models colleagues, as Linda Evangelista and Naomi Campbell and to be very admired and exalted in her tininess by stylists such as the casual and informal Calvin Klein. In his denim, minidresses and cotton zero-kitsch embellishments and ornaments bringing to the four corners of the globe his message of extreme essentiality and minimalism, bringing down any secondary accessories and trinkets, reaching to an androginity standard, not only by his often unisex collections but also by his perfumes such as One,  Be, Eternity and Obsession, emphasizing the characteristic vague gaze and big eyes of the model, that often give us the impression to be lost in a kind of void, to have got that je ne sais quoi, that has always been that quid that brought her to be a step ahead than the other ones and a powerful series of striked poses that remark her skinny simple look .By the passing of times, after working for almost every fashion stylists such as Versace, Gucci, Saint Laurent, Rimmel, Dolce e Gabbana,Missoni, Dior, Burberry and Bulgari, she became the allure testimonial of a classy and over-refined Chanel, adorned of threads of pearls and feathers, abandoning the old straight  ‘90s image, jumping into the gold, showing off thigh skimmed slipdresses, fluffy voiles and veiling stockings, bringing her fresh breeze to the sophisticated French trend icon of traditional, classical beauty. Snapped in the public as well as in her private life, very busy, although her appearance of fragile grown up woman, she’s always demonstrated how much though she’s always been in managing her business and her crowded and fuzzy lifestyle, finding also the time for some but exceptional love affairs, among which we remember celebrities as Johnny Depp, and Peter Doherty, Jamie Hince that gave her a daughter, Lila Grace, and recently the German aristocrat and photographer Count Nikolai von Bismark, always under a veil of moderation and sobriety, keeping her private life far from nasty gossips and scandals.

Impressing audience since her start-up times of Storm Model Agency in New York for her reverse mode that swept away over sized, Mediterranean, plumpy or curveliness trends of the previous years she enchanted everyone by her innocent feautures and sexy lips other than by the grace of her gentle moves, that has given her the fame of a seraphic, angelic, almost ethereal woman.

In her 40s, far away from the times of super modeling, she’s made her debut as businesswoman, by designing a special collection for  the British fashion company Topshop in London , named “Moss”, that mixes original fringes and straps to essential core clothes and textures, other than bags, belts and accessories and participated as an actress to the series “Absolutely Fabolous” and as interpreter of beauty in the G. Michael video “White Lights”.

The simplicity of her dresses aims to put in evidence the perfection of the body underneath it, almost as a way to convey the message that more that what you wear it’s important what there’s under the outfit, preferring to be rather than to have. The dress is finalized to exalt the perfection or the main traits of the body, so a fashion industry not focused on itself, in an over elaboration and abundance of fabrics and materials, but on the woman silhouette.

Don’t let us surprised how she has been capable to gather and welcome  throughout the years so different fades of the universal feminine appeal and lending her face to so different  interpreters of womanhood. by a subtle, delicate and slippery fascination and cliché.

Video presentation of my e-book "Eternal feminine: an inspirational sour...

Love is not a slot machine

 

Love is a chaotic magmatic fire

Hot red like the colour of your lips

 that enframe your candid white exciting smile.

A fire that burns and melts the smallest particles of your molecules

Pushing you to an unavoidable transformation and evolution to your next being,

That makes you stronger,

Maybe wiser, maybe sillier…

It’s all about absurdity,

The strangest and the most pleasant accident you would live or die for and could ever happen to you.

Trusting in your feelings you can be never cheated on.

They tell us much more than words and gestures,

They master the whole complexity

And have the clearest and the most comprehensive view

That catch what rationality fails to grab or snag.

You feel to have never been so alone and scared

and at the same time so complete

like in a magnetic gaze we would be only a thing.

Breaking down boredom, upsetting old mindsets you’re tired to keep on  bearing

And you want to get rid of

to renew and regenerate in something else.

Love is black

Like your sexy eyes…

Dead-killing as the faded end lines of your eyebrows…

Fine like your sleek cleverness

Cunning and quick like your intuitive glances

Strong and firm like your grit

Black as the reassuring darkness of the calm seawaters of the night

Like a maternal cradle that lulls you until the end of time

The colour in which something you repel dies to turn in something else.

I painted all my fires, along with their fireplaces, in black,

To be here. To be now.

Here you are that, from single pictures, you create the sequence

and the movie of a ballet, exclusively orchestrated by the heart,

A tango that sees our legs and bodies intertwined and grasped

 in the musical alternation of the rhythms

That jots down subtle harmonies in the magic, feverish space around us.

Clear, glad and sensual the vibrations of your voice in which inflections I sail and linger on…

Strong infatuations make you inexplicably lose consciousness

reasons why it’s the most amazing form of madness

In which not all shapes are congruent and always fit well one another

In which you constantly work on rounding off and soothing the corners

Searching improbable joints.

It’s hypnosis in which you’re lost in a swarm of emotions.

You hear but don’t listen to…

The details vanish, like your perspective,

Focused in another dimension,

In a tantalizing luring puppeteering of parts of you

whose you pull up and down the threads in search of the perfect minuetto,

that irresistibly attracts you in a mysterious alchemic game.

When you welcome and make room to it

it's like the coin you choose to insert in a  slot machine

                                                        looking for some kind of luck                                                                                                                       

maybe at the beginning a way like another to pass your time

longing for something new and different, some kind of amusement or whatsoever…

Maybe initially distractedly bored but insanely curious,

 then more and more involved till you finish to be enthusiastically raped

Taking on all your risks for victory’s sake.

It gives you the shivers on your spine like an electric shock

 in a ride on a roller coaster in and outside the tunnels,

needing to strongly fasten your belts and from which you wouldn’t never get off.

I’m not that kind of strong in my private life…

You and I,

We are pure art forms and culture,

Impressive portraits of perfection,

The chiaroscuro of a hysterical complementarity of melancholic hilarity,

linked by the quintessence of illusion,

Enchantment from classy glamour,

 masterpiece of nature,

inside out beauty and gorgeousness,

Smile to life.

Starring at each other eyes we can move mountains

primordial spring of energy

Trying to control the blood pressure and dizziness

To not stumble on our feet

In the perplexity if losing or not losing control.

Every new love gushing from my heart

Makes me feel experience means nothing to me.

Whatever else are even all the marriages if not a strolling around in an overcrowded Lasvegas casino’?

Love is an affair at risk of consumption

But it’s never a losing game

If you can make it on your own.

You must be enough chameleonic,

 If you decide to invest in it

 playing on disguise, to win the match,

to conquer what so strangely, suddenly, awake your wittiness and your senses

Passing over what is flat, old and useless by the passing of time

That project you in new realities or new dangerous fantasies

You can never know

Nothing’s predictable

I want the kingdom between my legs

And one memorable night would be enough to give you all.

Love feeds by itself

but if unrequited perishes like parts of yourself

 when one day after another look at you knowing that you could never be mine.

when you’re trapped in the cage of the illusion

you ask yourself what’s wrong with you and why it’s not possible to turn it into reality

Early or late, you need to touch the earth

All the flights need a landing or you bet your head derailing to obsession and maniac

Don’t take a joke too far!

When I realize it in my obnubilated mind

it has already taken roots in my depths

always late

hardly believing… waiting for too long makes you lose hope.

skepticism has nothing to do with dreams,

so you are at a crossroad .

Sad and void, aware that this kind of emptiness could be filled just by him,

you can really perceive to be already addicted and sometimes unnerved

in the anguish for all the efforts made in vain in the immutability of the events.

Agonizing frustration.

We are distant in any possible meaning

and maybe nothing could join us, now and never…

and you feel your life itself has no sense

even if he keeps on making you feel it,

it flows into your pulsing veins.

It’s the magic of seduction that from the initial attraction wants  just to head towards the sea

Always this game of impossible equilibria,

 of give and draw back, to keep alive the desire,

when you would rather like completely lose yourself to the other

I’m tired of all this stuff…

I have frayed nerves and my temples drilled…

Apathy as well as the excess of adrenaline could play tricks!

Love is also the certainty that you can let you go and set you free

That sane middle way and line of continuity so wished and never known

beyond the void and the nothingness after the scruffles and the fuss…

what is true, then, when nobody knocks at your door?

You never stop to give me all sorts of orgasms but I can’t touch you,

All is surreal and highly unlikely,

The pernicious fatal effects of virtuality…

Exaggeration is my first skill and my utmost damage!

The sad princess is a child always grown up in the lost or missing of her soul-mate

That’s why she hates games and slips away from them

That’s why she’s in a hunt of shelters.

Lover is a winning gambler…but will this luck last forever?

Without filters in the tunnel (free thoughts) - Senza filtri nel tunnel (pensieri liberi)

 Without filters in the tunnel (free thoughts)

from "Versi da una camera oscura", Amazon editions, 2021

I don’t know how much again I should serve my guilt to have loved with no limits

Neither of the mind nor of the conscience

I recollect the fragments of what has been at the mercy of nothingness

Just by virtue of my passion and without welcoming addressers.

As ever, I love who is not present

And the imperviousness of the path attracts me and shrouds me without filter.

Who we gather what I sowed along the way and will succeed to stitch me up

To come back to be what I was and to evolve in something somehow better?

I have no consciousness of what I am

And the future is an unclear arcanum.

Behind the walls of indifference often are hidden sick hearts.

I hope I'll have transpired some sense of beauty and an inner illumination

Even if sometimes avulsed from reality,

I'll have gifted a dream

In a world that is not so marvelous

And escapism

And a cradle of tenderness

                                           In which finding shelter.                                        

I know how it feels

When you arrived stretched blown out to the limit

And you feel with no rescues, no god, no alibi, no hope. 

This is what I have given, not asking anything in return,

As I would have wished to have been done to me.

But it was like talking to a deaf person

And to show to a blind man.

So much that I had to turn back to retrace my steps

Not losing out too much.

I wished a son of love to offer to life…I produced cancers…the sons of rejection…

My immunological system is fucked out,

Psychological defenses to seal again

But at least the poetry is left.

You’re a professional killer.

Maybe it’s just me the deaf and the blind person.

Probably it’s the strange manner to adapt oneself to life.

And I’ve lost and an important part of me, having been abandoned.         

Mocked and repeled,

Made insignificant,

With you, I risked the bottom of the barrel.

Maybe I have a propensity for bastards…

Every day a humiliation more.

You sucked me into a vortex

To see me reduced begging for a caress or a gesture

Making me go beyond each of my abysses

To always find new resources

To be able to love you one time more

Persisting in not accepting a reality different from that I have imagined.

Let’s not turn back anymore, let’s look just ahead,

Towards more natural compatibilities, out of the machine,

Searching not just by the instinct and the heart

But also by the use of the mind

What helps us to build our happiness,

If we are not able to stay alone.

We would cause less damage if we would learn to love ourselves more.

It’s been foolishness. Maybe it’s my fault.

The end of a love story is not the end of life,

Even if I live each of them as if they were unique,

 even if I always fight with my first of them, the only unforgettable one,

And it’s hard to find new equilibria

Because every story transforms you    

And you can’t always be equal to yourselves.

We drag ourselves, we combat to find ourselves again unnerved, not knowing what to do

Sometimes for the wish to put ourselves at stake

To find a sense where sometimes there isn’t one

To look then the sky and find again the serenity,

a sky that shows us that this is all.

I don’t know if it exists the perfect alchemy or it’s just a bullshit that we tell ourselves

But I have learned by experience that the most important thing is to not lose oneself of sight,

To preserve us from useless devastations and self-harm,

In search of wisdom within an emotion.

 Love is communion, not annulment for the other

Even if maybe I won’t ever be capable of not giving myself completely without conditions

And I will live forever, somehow, the conflict.

Arrived to forty, you come to terms with it

With the fact that nobody won’t be able to fill up that void

But maybe I’m just wasting my time with no point

For who has never deserved it and has never cherished my happiness.

I try naturally to open myself to life, with its joys and sorrows,

to who wants me to reflourish and smiles at me,

rather than dredging up an inclement past

to shake off the cross of pain. 

Senza filtri nel tunnel (pensieri liberi)

Non so quanto ancora dovrò scontare la colpa di aver amato senza limiti

Né della mente né della coscienza

Raccolgo i frammenti di ciò che è stato sparsi in balia del nulla

Forti solo della mia passione  e senza destinatario di recapito.

Come sempre amo chi non c’è

E l’impervietà del percorso mi attrae e coinvolge senza filtro.

Chi raccoglierà ciò che ho seminato per la via e riuscirà a ricucirmi

Per tornare a essere quel che ero o evolvere in qualcosa comunque migliore?

Di quel che sono non ho coscienza

E il futuro è un arcano incerto.

Dietro muri d’indifferenza spesso si celano cuori malati.

Spero di aver fatto traspirare qualche senso di bellezza e illuminazione interiore

Sebbene talvolta  astrusi  dalla realtà,

di aver regalato un sogno

In un mondo che tanto meraviglioso non è

Ed evasione

E una culla di tenerezza

                                               In cui trovare rifugio.                                              

So cosa si prova

Quando si arriva scoppiati al limite

E ci si sente  senza scampo, senza dio, senza alibi, né speranze. 

Questo è quel che ho dato senza chiedere nulla in cambio,

come avrei voluto fosse stato fatto a me.

Ma era come parlare a un sordo

e mostrare a un cieco.

Tanto da dovermi ritirare sui miei passi

senza rimetterci troppo.

Volevo un figlio dell’amore da offrire alla vita…ho prodotto tumori…i figli del rifiuto…

Il mio sistema immunitario va a puttane,

Difese psicologiche da ricucire

Ma almeno è rimasta la poesia.

Sei un killer professionista.

Forse la sorda e la cieca ero proprio io.

Probabilmente è lo strano modo di adattarsi alla vita.

Ed io ho perso e ci ho lasciato una parte importante di me.       

Irrisa e repulsa

Resa insignificante

Con te ho raschiato il fondo del barile.

Forse ho una propensione per i bastardi…

Ogni giorno un’umiliazione di troppo,

mi hai risucchiata in un vortice

per poi vedermi ridotta ad elemosinarti una carezza o un gesto

facendomi andare oltre ogni mio abisso

per trovare risorse sempre nuove

per riuscire ad amarti una volta in più

ostinandomi a non accettare una realtà diversa da come l’avevo immaginata.

Non volgiamoci più indietro, guardiamo solo avanti,

verso compatibilità più naturali, fuori dalla macchina,

cercando non solo con l’istinto e il cuore

ma anche con la mente,

ciò che ci aiuta a costruire la nostra felicità,

se non sappiamo stare soli.

Faremmo meno danno a imparare ad amare più noi stessi.

E’ stata una follia. Forse è colpa mia.

La fine di un amore non è la fine della vita,

anche se vivo ogni storia come se fosse unica,

anche se combatto sempre col mio unico primo,

ed è dura riequilibrarsi

perché ogni storia ti cambia        

e non si riesce più ad essere sempre uguali a se stessi.

Ci si trascina, si combatte per ritrovarsi sfiniti e non saper che fare

Talvolta per la voglia di rimettersi in gioco

Per trovare un senso dove talvolta non c’è

Per poi guardare il cielo e ritrovare una serenità che ci mostra che è tutto qui.

Non so se esiste  l’alchimia perfetta o è solo una balla che ci raccontiamo

ma  ho capito con’esperienza che l’importante è cercare di non perdersi di vista,

di preservarci da devastazioni inutili e autolesionismi,

 cercando saggezza  dentro l’emozione.

 L’amore è comunione, non annullamento per l’altro

Anche se forse non riuscirò mai completamente a darmi senza riserve

e vivrò sempre in qualche modo il conflitto.

Giunti a quarant’anni te ne fai una ragione

Che quel vuoto non lo potrà mai colmare nessuno

Ma forse spreco solo tempo inutilmente

Per chi non l’ha mai meritato e non ha avuto mai a cuore la mia felicità.

Cerco di aprirmi naturalmente alla vita, con le sue gioie e i suoi dolori,

a chi ti vuol fare rifiorire e ti sorride,

piuttosto che rivangare un passato inclemente

per scrollarmi di dosso la croce del dolore.

 

Attaccata a uno stelo - Attached to a stem

 

Attaccata a uno stelo

Una tuba di falloppio in sfacelo coi suoi bitorzoluti ammassi e fibromi

Un cancro che arriva a intaccare le ovaie ponendo fine a un sogno di maternità rincorso per anni.

Una donna a metà forse,

Forse non ho mai voluto esserlo fino in fondo,

probabilmente destinata a vivere come un’eterna bambina,

Una bambina mai nata,

In balia della precarietà e del non senso

Tra l’hustle and bustle e il tam tam rumoroso dei giorni morti

Le voci confuse e sovrapposte di dittatori spietati e caustiche maldicenze

Giudizi non richiesti, opinioni soggettive, relative, frammentarie

Che dalla superficie in cui nascono si annidano a fondo nei meandri della psiche intossicandola

E di cui neanche l’eco aveva l’alibi né l’invito ad interferire indebitamente

Voci che tacciano il fluire libero del pensiero e appesantiscono la fluidità dell’esistenza

Sospingendosi distruttive,

seppur repulse o fatte scivolate via in un’indifferenza di facciata o ragionata

E in cui ti perdi in un baccano malsano che nulla dice,nulla ascolta…

E ti trovi a voler essere un soffione

Che vorrebbe dissolversi  libero nell’aria,

Con gli occhi rivolti verso il cielo,

Estatica, leggiadra, senza peso, spogliandosi dei suoi ornamenti

basta cosi poco, il soffio di un attimo…

Ma che si ritrova ancorato giù al suo stelo

Sotto il peso dell’angoscia e del suo tormento

Che reclama le sue radici

gelando all’alito travolgente del vento

Che purifica, disincaglia e porta via con sè le scorie dei veleni

Ma che non riesce, non vuole, più lasciarsi andare…

Eppure sa che, nonostante speri in ripari d’occasione,  è l’inevitabile, liberatorio destino di una parte di sè …

Le uniche vibrazioni che sento ormai

Sono solo i rintocchi delle campane a morto

Che hanno dato il saluto ai miei affetti più grandi

E mi ritrovo a riporli in un cassetto, insieme alle loro foto,

in un angolo di un cuore che scoppia e che è stanco di battere ancora

avvolto in un manto di oscura solitudine e depressione,

che ha perso le ali invece di volare alto

nel rompersi delle uniche catene che lo legavano all’amore

e rimasta incastrata solo in quelle dell’odio e dell’oppressione.

Ultima delle romantiche ho sempre sognato una reale congiunzione di anime affini,

 il rapporto perfetto,

per concludere poi che l’idillio non esiste,

un’emozione placida e intensa come le onde del mare

che mi trascinasse con se anche in un putrido rigagnolo

 che riportasse al mare questo mio grembo sterile

che vorrebbe accogliere il seme di una benedizione che lo facesse rifiorire e riportasse a creare.

non l’ho mai trovato, non può essere altrove

e alla fine di quest’esistenza

vincitrice o perdente di qualcosa in questa corsa a ostacoli

vorrei che le mie ceneri riposassero per sempre nel fondo di quelle acque che, immaginarie o reali, non ci hanno mai diviso,

per non essere più pasto per i vermi anche dopo la morte

e non affrontare il degrado di ulteriori marcescenti putrefazioni.

 

Attached to a stem

A Fallopian tube in decay with its knobby masses and fibromas

A cancer that arrives to affect the ovaries sealing an end to my dream of motherhood I ran after for years.  

A half woman maybe,

perhaps I’ve never wanted to be one all the way,

probably destined to live as a forever child,

a never born child,

at the mercy of the precariousness and the non sense

among the hustle- and- bustle and the noisy tam-tam of the dead days

The slurred and overlapped of ruthless dictators and caustic slanders

Not asked judgments, subjective, relative, fragmentary opinions

That from the surface in which they are born nestle themselves to the bottom of the meanders of the psyche, intoxicating it

And of which even the echo had neither the alibi nor the invitation to unduly interference,

Voices that fling the free flow of thought and burden the fluidity of existence,

Destructive impelling,

even if repeled or let slip away in an apparent or reasoned indifference

and in which you lose yourself in an insane mayhem that nothing says, nothing listens to…

and you find yourself to wanna be a dandelion

that would dissolve itself free in the air,

with the eyes turned up to the sky,

ecstatic, graceful, weightless, undressing all its ornaments

it’s so easy, the blow of an instant…

but that is again anchored to its stem

under the burden of the anguish and of its torment

that claims its roots

freezing to the overwhelming puff of the wind

that purifies, refloates, and drifts astray the excoriations of the poisons

but that is not able, doesn’t even wan,t to let itself go anymore…

Anyhow, it's known that, although I hoped for occasional refuges, this is the unavoidable, liberating destiny of a part of oneself….

The only vibrations I feel by now

are just the tolling of the death knell

that have given the final goodbye to my greatest and dearest affections

and I find myself storing them in a closet, along with their pictures,

in a corner of a heart that is exploding and that is weary to beat again

shrouded in a mantle of dark solitude and depression,

that has lost its wings instead of flying high

in the breaking down of the unique chains that bound it to love

and remaining trapped just in those of hate and oppression.

Last hopeless romantic, I’ve always dreamt of a real conjunction of elected souls,

The perfect relationship,

arriving to conclude that the idyll doesn’t exist,

a placid and intense emotion like the waves of the sea

that drag me with them even if in a putrid rivulet

that brings back to the sea this sterile womb of mine

 that would welcome the seed of a blessing that would make it flourish again and bring it back to create.

I have never found it; it can not be elsewhere,

And at the end of this existence,

Winner or loser of something in this obstacle course,

I’d like my ashes would rest forever in the depths of those waters that, imaginary or real, have never detached us,

To not feed anymore other worms even after my death

And not having to face the degradation of further rotting putrefaction.