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
flowing slowly
in the soft
shadow
of your
hair.
Cristiano
Bartolomei
http://penso-ate.blogspot.it/2011/12/rosa.html (Italian version)
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