Don’t Ask Me

Don’t ask me how this poetry was born,

at what hour of the day or night, why

this verse drips with affection and light.

Don’t ask me. That would be like asking 

me why the sun rises so early in the dawn, 

why the rivers flow with fury when the 

rains fall, why the leaves fall in love 

with the autumn, and why the swallows 

become one with the blue sky each time 

they come back from their long journey.

Don’t ask me.

Without An Umbrella

Tomorrow I will go out without my umbrella 

and let the endless rain soak me through and

through; it will transform into kisses on my

skin. I will close my eyes under that elusive 

melody, searching for you in my memories.

I’ll look at the sky, conquered by a mass of 

clouds: dark, immersed in the fog, as if it 

were on fire. I’ll feel the rivulets of rain, 

which in the end will penetrate to my soul 

and my thoughts.
 
 
 

Empty

Your absence is stronger

than your presence, for it

causes pain in my soul, 

and it hurts so much. I 

wait and wait for you, 

even though there are 

no traces left on the

street; there is no rustle

of leaves. There’s too 

little air, it is tense,

suffocating; it’s not 

enough for me to breathe.

I search for you in the

midst of people; close

to me, I see you there,

sitting in a chair, as you

come to me, smiling. 

Then you begin to tell 

me stories – but perhaps

not the one that makes 

me rejoice like a baby.

The chair and my spirit 

still remain empty.