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These words are written by whom ? By the moon ? by giovannigovo

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· @giovannigovo ·
$3.26
These words are written by whom ? By the moon ?

![FB_IMG_1614269308822.jpg](https://files.peakd.com/file/peakd-hive/giovannigovo/jH2vdPzN-FB_IMG_1614269308822.jpg)


When it rains
two types are born
Of person.
Who repairs himself
and who doesn't.
Who - like me -
eats the rain
plays with it
wallows in it
runs like a jackrabbit
and who opens umbrellas
like rifles
to the sky.
We are different-equals
hares in a cage
close-distance :
we dry
or wet
we open roads
or we close them
to freedom.
It rains in my heart


Quando piove
nascono due tipi
Di persona.
Chi si ripara
e chi no.
Chi - come me -
mangia la pioggia
ci gioca
ci sguazza
corre come leprotto
e chi apre ombrelli
come fucili
al cielo.
Siamo diversi-uguali
leprotti in gabbia
vicini-distanti :
ci asciughiamo
o bagnata
apriamo strade
o le chiudiamo
alla libertà.
Piove nel mio cuore


![FB_IMG_1614269303975.jpg](https://files.peakd.com/file/peakd-hive/giovannigovo/mgawgVOP-FB_IMG_1614269303975.jpg)


> These words are written by whom ?
By the moon ?
By its light-shadow?
I don't think so
she
inexorable tarnishes
every orchard
keeps its secrets
collects its perfumes
gives them away
in the form of sighs
La chica sings it.
A jam
night
a snack
sacrosanta
deserved...
without a napkin
without a cover
without being sure
that these words
then
are not really
Of the moon.

Queste parole da chi sono scritte?
¿Dalla luna?
Dalla sua luce-l'ombra?
Non credo...
lei
inesorabile appanna
ogni frutteto
ne custodisce i segreti
ne raccoglie i profumi
li regala
sotto forma di sospiri
La chica la canta.
Una marmellata
notturna
una merenda
sacrosanta
meritata...
senza tovagliolo
senza coperto
senza essere certo
che queste parole
poi
non siano proprio
de la luna.


![FB_IMG_1614269300426.jpg](https://files.peakd.com/file/peakd-hive/giovannigovo/X9b31D0l-FB_IMG_1614269300426.jpg)


> How much does it hurt
this row of questions
never asked
you
have no idea...
They dance in my eyes
they skate
They make a whirling turn
A furious about-face
destroy
and then turn
into petals
of a flower
that if it would bloom
would be shelter for a thousand rays...
But spring here
does not come.

Quanto male fa
questa fila di domande
mai fatte
tu
non hai idea...
Danzano nei miei occhi
pattinano
fanno un vorticoso giro
un furioso dietrofront
distruggono
e poi si trasformano
in petali
di un fiore
che se sbocciasse
sarebbe riparo per milmil byle raggi...
Ma primavera qui
no arriva.



![FB_IMG_1614269296987.jpg](https://files.peakd.com/file/peakd-hive/giovannigovo/sVw4aXyA-FB_IMG_1614269296987.jpg)


> Do you want to be quiet?
All right...
I won't run into you
Be quiet...
Maybe you say or think
it's alright
Are you sure?
I decant the seré
and feelings...
now it all becomes background...
A little
seahorse
goes ashore
into the world
pops up
stands on its own
reales looks....
returns....
- Stay here you two
I prefer you here
silent lovers
stay here in the tide
among the shells. -

Vuoi stare in silenzio?
Va bene...
Io non ti corro incontro
Stai tranquilla...
Magari dici o pensi
che va tutto bene
ne sei sicura?
Decanto le seré
e i sentimenti...
ora diventa tutto fondale...
Un piccolo
cavalluccio marino
va a riva
nel mondo
sbuca
sta un po' sulle sue...
legge gli sguardi....
ritorna....
- State qui voi due
vi preferisco qui
amanti silenziosi
state qui nella marea
tra la conchiglie. -


![FB_IMG_1614269315251.jpg](https://files.peakd.com/file/peakd-hive/giovannigovo/5ZXtiVVW-FB_IMG_1614269315251.jpg)


> With steps
compassionate
I pity the grass
when I trample it
if I am trampled
I do not pity myself.
Deaf are the sky
and the earth
you apprentice
my forehead.
A fortune teller
prophesied me,
I would like it now
in front
and take back
those banknotes
sugalite
that in your pocket
with a grin
do not pity me
no longer.
And yet there are those who boast
as a tourist in a lazaret
of colds...
I pity you
yes...
not me
I man trampled
by myself.

Con passi
compassionevole
compatisco l'erba
quando la calpestio
se mi calpestato
non mi compatisco.
Sordi sono il cielo
e la terra
si apprentice
la mia fronte.
Lacrime un indovina
mi profetizó,
la vorrei ora
di fronte
e riprendere
quelle banconote
sugalite
che nella sua tasca
con ghigno
non mi compatiscono
più.
Eppur c'è chi si vanta
da turista in lazzaretto
di raffreddori...
voi compatisco
si...
non me
io uomo calpestato
da me stesso.



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