Streets are empty
Streets are empty at noon
and the slow noise
of the train
thrills me:
the silence
is not a bad companion
if you walk on a dusty road,
it leaves you the time
to recall your memories
to close your hands
keeping your dreams inside
and to consider
things as relatives.
And if some tear
drags graves onto my cheeks
it’s easy
to misunderstand them with sweat
remove them with a distracted finger
and stop
one moment
to rest.
At night
when shadows outside
will be mixed with my fears
and with my pain
they will back again
with renewed strenght
but now
with the sun only master of this sky
I won’t be sad
never
to have crossed your road
one time
and to have seen
inside the glowing light of your hairs
something I liked;
I won’t feel bad
never
for any of your freedom’s speech
for any of your not spoken words
nor
for your silence too.
Untold evening tale
