Italiano (English below):
La primavera è arrivata,
nonostante tutto il male
che sta impazzando sulla Terra.
Però la scorgo solamente
nei fiori sui balconi;
sul suolo nient’altro,
che petali di plastica
e mozziconi.
Colate di catrame
han sostituito l’erba.
Vorrà dire che alzerò lo sguardo
per veder passare la primavera.
English:
Spring has arrived,
despite all the evil
raging across the Earth.
Yet I only glimpse it
in the flowers on balconies;
on the ground, nothing more
than plastic petals
and cigarette butts.
Tar spills
have replaced the grass.
I suppose I'll lift my gaze
to watch the spring pass.
Categoria: nature poetry
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Prima & Vera / First & True
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La Pioggia Nella Città / Rain In The City
Italiano (English below):
Oggi piove.
Non sulle soglie del bosco
ma su un mare di asfalto;
non sulle tamerici
ma dentro ai tombini.
Niente ginepri né mirti,
soltanto muri e palazzi,
che, da gran prepotenti,
occludono gli orizzonti.
Non piove sui pini
bensì sui lampioni,
dritti righelli
con cui il vento traccia
gocciolanti trattini.
Piove sui nostri volti,
che però non son silvani,
ma, offuscati dal pallore,
e illuminati dal grigiume.
Apriamo tutti l’ombrello
se no ci sciogliamo.
Chiusi nelle autovetture,
immersi in tutt’altro
che freschi pensieri;
fortemente sperando
che le ore seguenti
fossero ormai già
un affare di ieri.English:
Today it is raining.
Not at the edge of the woods,
but over a sea of asphalt;
not on the tamarisks,
but into the city drains.
No junipers, nor myrtles,
only walls and buildings,
that, arrogantly,
obstruct the horizons.
It does not rain on pines trees,
but on lampposts instead,
upright rulers
with which the wind sketches
dripping dashes.
It does rain on our faces,
which, however, are not sylvan,
but, blurred in pallor,
and lit by grayness.
We all open umbrellas,
or we melt away.
Sealed in our cars,
immersed in all
but fresh thoughts;
fervently hoping
that the hours ahead
were already now
a matter of yesterday. -

(Be)Longing
I can’t keep up,
time runs too fast.
Leaves sprouting,
turn verdant green,
then yellow and crinkly
without me noticing.
I’m always too busy
earning my wages.
Life feels like a pity
when it’s nothing more
than sterile labour,
a matter of functionality.
I viscerally need
all my senses pleased.
I want to run in fields
with bare feet,
feeling the earth
beneath me. -

First Encounter With Aurora
Oh, Aurora,
how many people
keep chasing you?
It is a riddle
when your show is due.
Aurora, kaboom!
A green light!
Is it really you,
this fiery kite
in the deep blue?
Shy Aurora,
behind a thin veil
made out of mist,
as a first date
I got the gist.
Aurora, alas,
I must say goodbye
as day makes way
and away you die.
We’ll meet again
somewhere,
sometime. -

A Walk To Uunisaari
There are no ships
in this harbour
in this toned-down,
muffled season.
Water half frozen,
as a distant flame
lights a sauna
with a red haze.
Like life made small,
concentrated,
shrinking into a spore,
to resist the cold.
Merely dimmed
but not dead,
ready to blaze
as is spring again.
A picture suspended
in space and time,
a souvenir
for my inner eye. -

Botanical Garden
I see green,
herbaceous-scented,
aromatic,
warm and humid,
welcoming.
Exotic plants
high as the ceiling,
towering over me,
modest meat
aged for 36 years. -

On A Bench At Kaisaniemi Park
A white, calm scene,
unsaturated.
Birds sliding on the ice,
slippery.
Rolling trains noise behind,
soothing.
A freezing wind,
softly speaking.
My senses gently caressed,
never assaulted.
My inside is at peace
with the outside, and I
become one with the sight,
the sound, the scent,
the touch so gelid.
I am part of it
and it is part of me,
perfectly balanced,
homeostatic.
No pressure to achieve
or to appear,
just be in this place and time,
here and now
and nothing more,
in the chilling cold.
My take on Dolce Vita,
man and nature
entwined.