(Image and copyright of Marianna Zampieri, published with the kind permission of the author).
(Dedicated to a cat colony that no longer exists.
And to all the free spirits and proud of every place and every time.
With the indispensable support of Marianna)
Runs, guy, run away, still escape,
flee from man who has no heart,
seeks refuge in my heart.
And if you see me, run to me,
don’t turn around you, don’t hesitate.
You resting lying in a field of asphalt,
no roses or cyclamen,
They are only a puddle of waste.
Run fast, run again,
you don’t seek the wrong hand.
And if you do not see me, run again, still seeks the soul that comforts you,
searching of the man who is consumed.
Runs faster on the field of wheat and seeks my hand still.
As I ran with you on my shoulders, I saw a man further down in the valley,
gave me his back, his heart thrown with a careless gesture.
The grinning face, the far love , with my own appearance.
I’ll shoot him, i shoot him again,
the collapsed face, does not believe it yet.
One summer day we went to hell, I stayed with you till you drop.
I hear your voice far, dispersed without hope.
Rests well in the wheat sea, the wind whispering at the shoulders.
I return from the valley, wounded and bleeding,
but I will always have a friend behind the shoulders.