Una rosa sul mio cuscino - A rose on my pillow

Una rosa sul mio cuscino
fiorisce ogni mattino,
rossa come il tramonto,
blu sull'acqua di uno stagno
mentre cala la notte,
si illumina di brina,
si colora con il Sole.
Intorno l'erba canta
col vento di speranza,
riappare su un ruscello
che scende fino a valle,
aggrappata a un ramo
di abete grigio neve,
distesa la mia rosa
nell'acqua si disseta,
si ferma ormai stanca,
la vedo in lontananza,
eppure è qui vicino
distesa sul cuscino.


Cristiano Bartolomei


A rose on my pillow
blooms every morning,
red like the sunset,
blue on the water of a pond
when night falls,
lights of frost,
is colored with the Sun
Around the grass is singing
with the wind of hope,
reappears on a stream
going down to the valley,
clinging to a branch
fir gray snow,
lying my rose
quenches her thirst of water,
stops tired,
I see her in the distance,
and yet  is here close
lying on the pillow.


Cristiano Bartolomei

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

http://penso-ate.blogspot.it/2011/12/rosa.html  (Italian version)