domenica 28 febbraio 2016

Gifts and arms by Stefano Donno

Something i get it at my agethat losing is more need of findingthat the poet is beyond writing and over the manthat to live is to get used to a millenary darknessthat making art or review a frameworkit takes little or nothingthat silence has a humble peelas a blanket of snow on the fieldsthat just a few centimetersto see think understand.
Something i get it at my ageNow no sooner than my booksi do not write title author and datenow no longer a dream with open eyesbut i look up to the sky to not stay anywhere elsenow no more gift wrapping paperor symbols or odors.
I came to understand that it will take years and yearsto remove months of anxieties and expectations for escapeto a slow agony made of endless narrationsi now know that some nights the ghostsThey pay a visit to talk about their sufferinghung who knows how to oak branchesor the next park redwood.
Now i know what it feels like when you search forraise your arms above your headand the heavy feel like those of an old man.
Something i get it at my agesomething that has to do with the stars and cometswith colorful kiteswith the voices of your loved oneswith life in short, something that I can not sayout of shame or ignorance or laziness sad

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