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Poetry Excerpts

1920 in Hyde Park


I was

Protected by falling branches

The park before me,

As a damned Crepuscular

Taking refuge under a tent of sticks

And the chestnut creaking of leaves.

Wintery breeze

A limpid sun

That fades the grass

And shines into my eyes -



Standing against the celestial vastness

The purity of cold seeps through

Memory -

Only a warm ray

Gilds all in gold

In plays of light

Among the branches

Could be destroyed in an instant  


You killed me in 30 seconds 

With a plastic blade 

My boots in the white snow  

Were really beautiful  

And attractive 

Like a charming warrior  

I looked at you 

You looked at me 

And you smiled – you didn’t know  

It was death  


How beautiful – the boots  

And charming was 


Externalisation on the edge


In this city, nobody can cry

Nothing is left in this city

To writhe complying with the principle

Of perpetual anguish

Piles of still matter

Twisted on themselves

Ready to explode

At the first twitch

Expressionless faces

Stare into the void

In opposite reactions

Without tears, you cannot cry

In this city



To lose myself in your eyes 

As deep as nocturnal 


The bewildering silence

Of those eyes of yours 

Captures me enraptured —

Am I safe or astray

My love?!

You only 

In infinite and eternal, 

In a moment gone-by, 

In the relativity of what’s important 

Within the whole and the unique,

You only, Love 


Pronounce my destiny.

The faraway heavens



Reflecting infinity

On the magical water mirror,

Vague image of smoky mist

And low.

From the tunnel,

On boats and grim clouds,

Linger the ghosts of the past


Within their charmed castles

Far away

In the valleys of enchantment.

Untitled 2


Always filled with wonder  

The coalescence of light  

In white forenoon  


Among the trees 


Only carefully  

Outlines of undergrowth 

Show through 


Among herbs and barks 

Rain still effuses its scent 


A vacant gaze 

Set into infinity 


Along the rivers of thought  

Beyond the wet curtain of the morning

Afternoon in Romagna


Snap the wheels

Along the white little stony roads 


In the rural sun, 

Only birds and leaves

Are the balladeers

Of the struggle of the traveller

Against the wind.

Struggle repaid 

By the intense colours

Of summer, 

The tips of tall poplars

Like brushes 

On a solid sky, 

And the red poppies 

Scattered among the brambles of a moat.

An isolated farmhouse 

In the quiet of the countryside, 

And surrendering to the senses 

To consummate

A forbidden love.

Romantic longing, in the mellow light of late afternoon


Evening never comes, 

shut behind these panes

from which not even a breath

of your blond light leaks.

Nonetheless, dancing wisps of bristly pines

rouse the soul to the desire

of a utopian peace,

cantillated in old tunes, hailing from East.

It dies every evening,

bathed in sunset blood,

but always revives,

fiery phoenix,

to torment the heart

Idyll is an instant 


Your warm hand in the cold of winter 

Is the only guide I need 

To enter the dimension of delight

Dive with me into a soft carpet of colours

Where your smile is sweet wine for my soul

I sip it up, golden, and drunk of you

My love, I know

It is already ecstasy 

Romantic summer


Nothing my love I could suffer to miss

Of your existence.

Not the most fleeting of instants

Nor a sigh

Confused with the immensity of the air.

Nothing would I remove

From this gentle landscape

Surrounding your life,

Not even the dark storms

Sometimes disturbing

My idyllic


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