Catography # 61. “Following the path of our dreams”


Following the path of our dreams
we stopped before we get to the source where did we meet,
and if all this was over before
perhaps we would talk again.

The path that we can no longer travel together where it would take us?
Now there is the wall of earth among us. Hard and silent, mercilessly stentorian.  In such rivers and springs we’d immersed in such springs and valleys kissed by the eternal sun of noon of simple and true hearts? Such ridges we climbed shoulder to shoulder, looking at the hazy horizon, or sighting saddles with you on your shoulders?

Now I’ll have to wander and climb up on each ridge, hills and mountains of the universe, in an eternal present, in search of an impossible redemption.
Silent and alone, looking for answers impossible in serotonin wind.





Catography # 60. “After the last spring snow”


After the last spring snow, under the blanket of galaverna between quivering shoots under the ground powdered from the first frost you could see two small fairs run mingling between light and shadow, between the light spring rain and the smell of wet earth among the cliffs of the time and dream.
If you see them you pay attention to those two, they are light and intangible clouds, it is
useless to run after them: you will never find them.
But if they were in front of you never look into their eyes and you would see your unexpressed pain.
Because they are painted with the colors of the rainbow but inside have a thousand red poppies and all you would want to sit in peace, curled to the shy and warm sun of a new day.
Together, in their world.


Dopo l’ultima neve di primavera, sotto la coperta della galaverna, fra germogli frementi sotto la terra incipriata dalla prima gelata potreste vedere due piccole fiere correre confondendosi fra la luce e le ombre, fra la leggera pioggia primaverile e l’odore della terra bagnata, fra le scogliere del tempo e del sogno. Se le vedete ponete attenzione a quei due, sono nembi leggeri e intangibili, é inutile rincorrerli: non li troverete mai.
Ma se fossero davanti a voi non guardateli mai negli occhi o vedreste il vostro inespresso e inaccettato dolore.
Perché sono dipinti con i colori dell’arcobaleno anche se dentro hanno mille papaveri rossi e tutto quello che vorrebbero sarebbe starsene in pace, acciambellati al timido e tiepido sole del nuovo giorno.
Insieme, nel loro mondo.



Catography # 59. “A bullet in the sparkling blue sky / Un proiettile nello scintillante cielo blu”


Facing the horror of loss,
i chase the ghost of your shadows,
you have left in me a part of your soul,
and i still feel you again, and again,
and i see myself through a passive dark mirror,
in search of you.
Where was born this crucible of love and this painful satori?
I love you, little Ladycat…


Di fronte l’orrore della perdita,
io inseguo il fantasma della tua ombra,
hai lasciato in me una parte della tua anima,
e io ti sento ancora, e ancora,
e vedo me stesso attraverso uno specchio scuro passivo,
alla ricerca di te.
Dove è nato questo crucibolo di amore e questo doloroso satori?
Ti amo, piccola Ladycat …