Here we live in a long talcum, we live clinging to any look,
counting the pieces, leaving them out there, which are his libids, which are my flowers.
I don't write anything anymore, my wrists are bound,
now the only time is in the time that passes,
and in here the pain is a usual guest,
but the love that is missing is the love that hurts.
Every man of my life was the verse of a poem,
lost, torn, collected, embraced.
Every love of my life, every love of my life
is sky, is voraciousness, is land that I eat to live again.
From the house of madmen, from a fog far away,
how sweet is the memory of Dino Campani,
because nothing is enough to be happy,
it is enough to live like the things he says
and to share all the loves you have,
so as not to lose you, to lose you, to never lose you.
What you don't do to live, what you don't give to live,
look, I'm living.
What it cost me to live, what I paid to live,
children, blows of wind,
my mouth wants to live, my hand wants to live.
Now, in this moment, my body wants to live,
my life wants to live.
I love you, I love you, I feel you.
Every man of my life was the verse of a poem,
lost, torn, collected, embraced.
Every love of my life, every love of my life
is sky, is voraciousness, is land that I eat to live again.
Every man of my life was the verse of a poem,
lost, torn, collected, embraced.
Every love of my life is sky, is voraciousness, is land that I eat to live again.
Thank you.
Alda Merini
Letters.
I see again your letters of love, illuminated now by a detachment,
without almost a grudge.
The illusion was strong to support us.
We held each other in our arms, praying that the intentions would last.
We promised each other the forever of lovers,
certain in our spirits of God.
And you could leave me.
And you could sense another light, which followed after my shoulders.
You raised me up from the scarce origins, with calls of divine music.
You gave me a divergence of pain, space for your life of search,
to avoid the time of an error.
And you left me only your letters, where I could relive my absence.
I would like a son from you, who is a shining sword,
like a cry of high grace,
who is stone, who is noble Adam,
the yeast of my blood,
and who will solve more gently this thirst of ours.
Assetamo.
I cry to him from every wind, jamming flowers from every tired branch,
and they are all flowered,
and from every velvet my mourning spreads,
because you are the genesis of my flesh.
But my heart, driven by love,
desires to be born alive.
And so give me a delicate son,
a beautiful green snow-white to tie to my trunk.
And you, mighty father,
your rich soul of ancient strength,
you will put sweet shadows to my lights.
Thank you.
© BF-WATCH TV 2021