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giovedì 16 maggio 2013

Rose



Sweet rose dressed with the infinite,
your candid tears purify
the soul from the same breath,
full of pain and gray smoke
of  an unconscious sky.
Sweet rose,
your rain is like snow and Spring,
for those who know how to observe it,
falling in the night
in front of a solitaire glass,
on the edge of a forest
that no one knows.
It’s soul
your figure wrapped in the hair,
in a warm and soft blanket
of dreams and poetry.
I love you,
yet I don’t know you,
but I love you,
not for the word itself
stealing time and thoughts
to people who we don’t see;
I love you for a moment
where you stood in my garden,
tender and weeping of dew,
alone in the wind
that tore off  you the leaves.
Forgive these hands
that picked you unaware
from your land,
now forgotten,
and open your lips again
for me,
to breathe from your petals
the life
flowing slowly
in the soft shadow
of your hair.

Cristiano Bartolomei