Quando la vita non si comanda
Accostarsi senza comando, ascoltare ciò che cresce nel silenzio.
Approaching without command, listening to what grows in silence.
Ero un contadino disse,
e con le mani indicava le stelle,
era un mago sapevo
che nel suo silenzio
teneva il mondo dentro.
Osserva i fiori, le luci, i colori,
respira il ritmo dei germogli,
sa di sole
anche nei geli.
Non riconosce il mondo, il mondo lo
trova dentro.
Era una madre o un
sole chiesi?
Il cielo era nuvolo
perché la vita non si
comanda.
Il mio sguardo sghembo
non tiene i colori.
I gesti lenti per accostarsi piano,
non forza la vita,
la ascolta man mano,
per questo confonde,
ma scalda , rincuora.
Le notti le voci parlano piano, vengono da altrove,
come mani sui tavoli.
Si raccontano storie, parole , dolori, la vita
comfonde ma tu mi commuovi.
ENG
The color of flowers. When life cannot be commanded
I was a farmer, he said,
and with his hands he pointed to the stars,
he was a magician, I knew it,
because in his silence
he held the world within.
He watches the flowers, the lights, the colors,
he breathes the rhythm of the shoots,
he tastes of sun
even in the frost.
He does not recognize the world, the world finds itself inside him.
Was he a mother or a sun, I asked?
The sky was overcast
because life cannot be commanded.
My crooked gaze
cannot hold colors.
Slow gestures, approaching gently,
he does not force life,
he listens to it little by little,
for this he confuses,
but he warms, he consoles.
At night the voices speak softly, they come from elsewhere,
like hands resting on tables.
Stories are told, words, pains, life confuses, but you move me.
Reverie Sonore 
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