(Canos de Meca, August 22, 1996)

There was a house on the hill,
an old ruined house
covered with the roots of great pines
darkening the sun and the light.
That house had two windows,
Two gashes in the emptiness of life,
a life that kills everyone who shows up bravely.
But nobody looks out of those windows now.
The house had a door,
a wooden door worn out by the time.
An unreadable nameplate hung
on the wretched door.
It was a house with no roof.
The bones of its last inhabitants
were hidden within it,
people born in a world that doesn't care
how fast the hours sometimes run
too fast for a man.

after the end of the world
("Il pentimento di Dio
...dopo la fine del mondo")
(To you, my Lord, color between colors, light between lights, I dedicate this song.
O may You stop to hide Yourself behind the pain, in order that You might reach us
one day!)

I stop the game from now on,
said God to the Time as the world died,
All my creatures are hopeless
and corrupted by their own freedom.

O if only I turned Myself a little bit into a man,
now I were somewhat different!
not so unfailingly alone.
O if only I opened Myself to your mind,
man, now I didn't feel so alone!
so tragically alone.

What a joy for Lucifer the day when
he won his bet, proving that both
evil and goodness are in God's mind!
How many human beings have dreaded
the death's infamous phantom.
They have been asked to suffer
in name of a God who,

rather simple in His complexity,
can't be felt anymore.
How can a father ignore his lost son's lament
and permit to the evil to torment
his soul on earth
by the pretence of a false freedom?

"I can't take it anymore," said the last pope,
"I cannot accept that a child dies for his freedom.
And so I now decide,
in front of this world that is paying attention,
that Free Will is God's trick
to let it go at that, to care no more
about wars, hunger,
and the immense atrocity of human egoism."

How much insecurety is hidden
behind the ancient mystery of faith
that makes our fears sweeter
since several centuries...

And as the Lord commanded,
time was stopped,
nature felt apart with a last howl
and everything froze in the infinite space
just like statues of inert matter
suspended for the eternity.

O if only He turned Himself
somewhat into a man! Now
He was not so unfailingly immovable
O if only He tried to open His mind
to the man! now
He was not so unfailingly immovable.

("Tutte le mie stelle")
(I make some music... to feel no more the evil's touch on me, to feel no more the
heart-wrenching anguish, to feel no more the noise of the memories, to feel no more
the mighty deliriums of the humble papers, to feel no more the dictate of human
nature, to feel no more the great anger of the intelligence and the body and the
spirit which fight against it, to feel no more my need for love)

So many empty faces
so many neglected faces
so many spirits wandering in circle
with no freedom at all.
Too big is the fear of being alone
with no soul who could satisfy the own vanities.

This night is too dark and I'm too sad
I ask myself if I can tell anything
at all of this stupid reality.
Now I shut up my heart,
I can't stand that noise,
I sit down and wait for some change to come.

Century of natural egoism
that gets through the hearts
and extinguishes their fire
But I can just take the truth
as it is with no tears and frail-hearted
but with spirit invincible.

I will pick all my stars
and I will sing
the most beautiful of my poems.
To the music alone
I will dedicate my fantasies...
If only the dawn would not arrive
remembering to me how
incomplete is the memory
and swallowing up my last and sweeter word.

I'd wish to have a crystal flower
because of the lack of words
and a key and a rose to defend my heart.
The still imperfect thoughts,
as an irregular wave,
are heartless expressions,
they are the sour fruit of flesh, irony & vanity.
I have neither a heart to dream
my dreams nor a mind to think my thoughts.
Inspired men have never
spent their life in truth.
But everything is silent all around
now no voice at all my heart, a slave of reason,
will reach out the sun.

It's a century of mentally derangement
that kills dreams and myths
and crushes their factions.
But I can just take the truth as it is
without an ideal to fight for
but with unmasked heart and spirit invincible.

I will pick all my stars
and I will sing the most beautiful of my poems.
I'll head for the sky shouting,
"it is not the end yet"...
It's my time, my life, my dream, my game
which can be played just once
in this world of madness and heroes.

(trying to reach the infinity: this is the eternal damnation of the human nature from
birth on... giving that the infinity is represented by God or by our own wishes, a man
loses his way and his peace if he only watches too deeply in the bottom of it)

Today I have danced on the moon
I have catched a comet with my rope
I have explored Orion,
then I have declared my love to the stars
and I have felt the infinity.
Living in myself, living by myself
Only with me, no it's not enough,
not enough anymore.
Jehova please vomit some love on me too.
And dreaming of her, living for her
Only with her
makes me feel alive and endless.
But love is a fairy
and the credulous men live like kings.

A black spot is appearing in the void
It's the fear of the eternity,
bleak like the nothingness,
grey like the infinity.
Jehova please take away
the hatred that possesses me.

I'd like my dream to become true
But the truth is as sad as the world
and the world is as bleak as the eternity,
as bleak as a pain filled up with desperation,
smashed dreams
& a cry suffocated by shapeless masses of unfinished persons, people snatched
away by the hatred.

And dreaming of her, living for her
Only with her
is not enough, not enough anymore
Because I'm just a man.
Therefore I go on searching
for the infinity, wishing the infinity
in every occasion,
and that's why
I, now, die.

("Un cieco")
(no doubt that the heart is a fool, yet our senses fool us much more, and also life -
life compels the mind to judge the surface of things too hasty, dispensing too rush
judgments that damage the true inner worths)

Take my hand
then turn your eyes to the sky
And tell me when it's enough
for me to see it by my mind.
Now take me to the seaside
and tell me what a feeling
can be inspired by the color of the sea.
For blue, red, green and yellow
are only into your eyes,
and it's my heart that paints the colors for me:

I can see the carob tree
only through the harshness
and the sundown
through melancholies and depths.

Sounds lay on my white eyes like
joyful Catherine-wheels
transforming everything
by their gentle touch
your caresses, your kisses,
my darling my bride.
Wheels take me in flight
to the center of the cosmos.

Mate, I can't explain
the whole universe that fills up my eyes.
This world is too distant for you,
impossible to tell the beauty of all things.
I can talk with many wonderous spirits
without knowing the colors of skin,
eyes, and dresses.
Shout your ideas in the wind, asphalt man,
in our secret worlds
we all are so much alike.

Neck-tied and tail-coated man,
your look can't give voice to you.
High society woman,
a selfish heart always reveals itself.

I would like you to understand
how useless are the properties
in a world of shadows and sounds.
Our worths are our real dresses,
along with the colors of feelings
that dance within us
with memory's infinite greatness.

("La Giostra")
(to the innocent victims of last century's cruelst barbarity which had ever been
inflicted on the human race... in order that they may not be forgotten)

I remember very clearly
That old round-about
lying in the midst of garbage
When I was a kid I believed
that it was new and splendid
it ran at the sound of chimes.

How sweet now to imagine that
plastic sculptures are turning
at the turning of my thoughts.
The round-about runs and I run around it
like a drunkener wholly lost in his own world.

Four ghosts are coming through the fog,
they mount horses,
each of them has a number on his forehead:
it's the number of the place
decided by the Death.

And the first ghost said,
My body felt on the meadow just like snow
and now that I go round and round I say,
man, think of what happened in the year '42.

O (said the second one)
how often I've dreamt of a future for my baby
But we are only dust now, snow-like dust
on the meadows of Auschwitz.

I hate the human beast (said the third one),
who makes us presents also if he
doesn't owe any quality anymore
his dirty soul is burning for all the crimes
he committed inside the walls of Auschwitz.

I couldn't smell the smell of incense inside the showers (said the fourth ghost).
Nevertheless, someone rumors
that it is here, among us,
on the meadows of Auschwitz

(to the Love... a dream of pureness that goes sour due to the adult trasfiguration of
maternal affection: is it sincere affection or rather necessity of procreation?)

What a smutty, false, queer game
is love, heart-dominating love,
so greedy of intimate elective affinity.
Not sweet feelings rule the hearts
but absurd and unjust orders
determined beforehand
by Mother Nature for the love

in Systems of ordinary castration
I'm a much-suffered heart, a cardboard heart
that doesn't celebrate nonsensical orges
and that is just able to exorcize its torments
by his late-night verses.

And I, in this Strangeboredom
(a word that I invented
the day I felt in love),
I lose myself in my Strangehappyness
given to me, accidentally or fatefully,
by her crazy generous heart.

Now the love is as dark as a moonless night,
dark as a room without windows,
without a single aperture.
On the bed, so empty and so cold,
a lacking heartbeat
drives my lady to search for her own soul.

Free from the infantile dream of ideal love,
what remains is the raw truth.
Can the reason alone bring passion to me
without the heat of the heart?

If only this hate which I need to afford the love
could generate a storm
of memories and sadness
that blew away the head-wrapping fog
and made me travel high above the stars,
so that I had no more need for love!

I've climbed on the cross
looking for faith. In vain.
I wanted to soothe the pain of a yielding heart,
but the voice of God is inaudible for a man
who tries to escape from the usual life.

And the mind, alone and empty-hearted,
turns from mud to mighty rock,
naturally inhibiting the fooling heart
that's why I think no more of her,
the woman whom I take in my arms
trying to feel her as a very part of me,
of a puzzling and confused story...

("Amore bianco")
(... If one day God wants me to learn how to love her, I can get married with her
and love her child as it was mine. And I would offer my warm dwelling to both of

At night, as soon as you reach
the pillow next to me,
my tired hand stops in the air,
not knowing if to touch you
again shamelessly,
and it trembles
at the thought of another sunrise.

Vague shadows
smile at the back of my lost age,
stealing everybody's heart's flame.

Remember the voice, remember the colors
of a piano playing a sweet song.
The vibrating stings
carve onto the heart
the deaf image of a love dream.

Acid dreams tint
the sweet and folly truths of life,
a life passing away
like sand between the fingers...

White Love, don't listen to,
the warm flesh will consume you
there is no magic
when the heart doesn't reflect.
Gross flesh, you cannot alterate
a sweet kiss
given in luxury and freedom.
It's not the moment
to free the ancient ghosts,

old and despaired calls
of useless and wasted loves
which once seemed so sweet so true.

You ask me what's the problem
while pulling the sheet on your breast,
and if I ask you why you are so sad
you turn away,
and a fairy in the sky lets fall a golden powder
which comes down
on you like snow on the mountains.

You shine by the light of a deep love
but my eyes are tremendous empty
and a new day
has already born outside.

You have written on a paper:
An evening in July,
in which our beautiful dream
seemed so old-timey,
faithful to a love
that burns children raped
from the houses of white-haired mothers,

Two different hearts turn
around a tree load with yellow leaves.
The river that flows
on the bottom of everything
steals the ring that I have put in your finger.

("Morte di un amore")
(for an era to come, in which a sweet love story, ended with utterly pain, will be
transformed into memory)

I don't know what I'd do for you
in this wheeling coil of anguish,
the eyes possessed of acid scenes,
contours of rerunning dreams.
I don't know
why you are so willing to me.
Perhaps only an expedient,
since you know at heart who is
the one who can warm your woman body
and who would follow you to the grave.

I shall sing to the earth
my want of dreaming
until all will be finished for ever.
I shall realize
that the heart is not a fable
but only comfortable warmth
for someone who stills feels
the weight of an uncanceled pain.

Variety show to-nite!
I'm no more alive since long,
I don't love myself since a long long time.
If I must remain in this place
where the daylight is banned,
shoot at my heart instead of vomiting on it

When a love dies
it's not good to think

When a love dies
it's better to sleep

When a love dies
you'd be better not to talk about it

When a love dies
you must be careful,

You must begin to dig a grave,
a grave as deep
as the pain-making hatred,
the dirty loss of a grudge
born from the innate need
that always humbles the heart.
Every brick counts in your wall of silence,
because time snatches every passion.
Bury your sad heart without hesitation
and tomorrow will be a better day.

My sweet Angel,
if you shall dissolve at dawn,
I remember to take with you
my bitter tears.