c a l i m ë

Just like a man who dreams of awakening, I could not sleep. Before the daybreak I set out on a dewy journey. I did not know whose mountain house it was. I went through its white painted gate and went up a slope. I could see a mountain leaning toward the southeast, celadon-green mountains looking small forming a line on the horizon. On the terrace I found a dried-out fountain, in its middle, an old rusty Triton crouching alone, like a waterless gourd, like an empty perfume bottle. It was a May morning when spears rusted . . . All the windows of the house were dosed except one upstairs. Surrounded by a blooming thorny vine, the window was open. I could see the back of a mirror-stand. Who lives there? Is this the dwelling of the woman  who ties her dreams to the spire of skylarks when a thistle-color trembles at dawn? In this ruined house she was combing her hair, awakened so early -- after a joyful dream? or not being able to sleep? If I could know her . . . Perhaps it was a honeymoon bed so long ago . . . By the entrance steps I saw young lovers carved in stone -- moss hanging from their embrace ... Yellow violets blooming -- this heart-rending spring. A sorrowful sight, painting on a hill a woman picks field horsetails. She does not say a word. Its birth near, a rose-fruit's, this beloved life's fruit's whispers' whispers knocking on the leaves -- a thought of eternity.

un giorno ti porterò in una città di mare dove sulla spiaggia si trovano tutte le poesie scritte e poi stracciate la meravigliosa solitudine delle persone tristi i capelli annodati delle ragazze milioni di impronte sulla riva solo per mostrarti che il mondo è pieno di poesia le poesie più belle sono le persone solo che la maggior parte sono state scritte senza passione

molti dicono che in amore vince chi fugge, altri che vince chi aspetta. io dico che in amore vince semplicemente chi ama; e anche se non è corrisposto è pur sempre vincitore, perchè amare è la cosa più nobile che l'uomo possa fare.