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VIEWS THINGS RIGHT AND LEFT (WITHOUT GLASSES) ...


... non tanto per evitare the front view, semper Davanti é che alle cose, da un'altra keeps piuttosto per part, fencing Fri di leak proprio pensiero d'uscita to



(Enric Miralles)

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CLOUDS

are
should occasionally stop and when they stop

are black as a raven
seem to look at you with evil eye

Sometimes
are white and run and
take the form of the heron

or sheep or some other animal
but this is best seen children playing
run after him for so many yards

Sometimes warn you before you arrive with noise

and earth
trembles, and the animals are silent
sometimes warn you with sound

should be


back and maybe stop
tanti giorni che non vedi più il sole e le stelle e
you Conoscere seeded di non più il posto dove stai

Vanno

vengono per a
vera mille sono Finte
and if work Metton li noi e per il sky
lasciarci soltanto a Voglia di pioggia.

(F. De Andrè)

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always be like a child for so many things, but one of these children carry with them since the beginning of the adult, so that when the monster truly comes to adult occurs which in turn brings it to the child and the cammin nel mezzo gives a few vecess peaceful coexistence por menos de dos aperturas to the world ...

(J. Cortazar)

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MADAME


Soy mas, estoy, breath.
Lo profundo es el aire. La realidad me
invented.

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Soul that you do not rebel
the trails of airplanes,
through me,
cross oceans and gulfs.

not answer the questions of the world
but ask me every day.

Me, which are far less
the nearest anything. In

you dress fate

this unknown fellow who give their children every day.

- Children of no one will say. -

will know me, keep the wind

moving blades of grass and my hair never tied


and too free a woman?


Beatrice Niccolai

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On the blade of your razor's rib

You are in me,
beyond appearances

where the dream is the eternal victory of one who is defeated.

Living is a vertigo
like walking barefoot on the blade of your razor


and feel under your feet, which gives

the thrill of walking barefoot on the grass.

A flight of a lifetime and never feeling

ready for takeoff.



Beatrice Niccolai

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mud

There are silences

living things bloom and blossom in the lives.


through the streets you know and do not run;

reside in the secret of the moon and between the branches of the mulberry becomes
smell. There are silences


covering the nights
leaving uncovered only the sides.


remain in God's footsteps echo in the silence, where everything takes us back

as drawn from the same speech, the genesis of a day


where a woman kneeling on time, on dry ground crying



has created an offshoot of mud.



Beatrice Niccolai

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the free flowering of a wild meadow

I'd say
"now I dive into the sea I want to take a flower


Understanding the world of poets
is down to the depths
there and start running as if it were largest of the prairies.

The poet is not always true
never will reveal his top secret, even if you

condemn the infamy of the lie,

E 'already dead too many times
for because thou kill.

It seems to be lost in the sea while you run and where you
Dimple waves,
will emerge from the darkest depths,
the free flowering of a wild meadow



Beatrice Niccolai

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dressed in white in the flight of wild ducks

Some nights I wear all the nakedness of my years. I am the truth



of a bare tree and a promise that I carry with me before he started

from the eternal.


some evenings I feel all the evil of life, as a labor

that I can not stand, like an ancient

promise to keep.

.
wild ducks in flight
rises as distracted by the noise in the reeds
another day.

Beatrice Niccolai

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distances


remain not far from the last look,
that has a thousand broken mirrors
under the cracking of the day. A word

richama eco

yet to appeal to old distances. Inside the quiet


draws circles
smooth skin of a stone.


Beatrice Niccolai

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'Go again at the roses. You will understand that yours is' unique in the world. Then come back to say goodbye, I'll give you' a secret. " The little prince went away 'again at the roses. "You are not at all like my rose, yet you are nothing," he said. "No one has tamed you, and you have tamed no one. You are like my fox. It was not a fox like a hundred thousand others. But I have made my friend and now it 'for me unique in the world. "And the roses were very much embarrassed." You are beautiful, but you are empty, "she said again." You can not' die for you. Certainly, an ordinary passerby would think that my rose looked just like you, but she, she alone, and 'more' important than all of you, because it 's you that I have watered. 'Cause you that I have put under the glass globe. 'Cause you that I have sheltered behind the screen. 'Cause on you I killed the caterpillars (except the two or three for butterflies). 'Cause I heard she grumbled, or boasted, or even sometimes remain silent. 'Cause my rose. "And back' to the fox." Goodbye, "he said.
" Goodbye, "said the fox." Here is my secret. It 's very simple: One sees clearly only with the heart. The essential 'invisible to the eye. "" What is essential and' invisible to the eye ", he repeats 'the little prince, to remember." It' s the time you have wasted for your rose that makes your rose so 'important'. "It 's the time I have wasted for my rose ..." I whispered' the little prince to remember. "Men have forgotten this truth '.

Antoine de Saint-Exupéry

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other ancient solitudes

we are more lonely
those who pass the time,
counting the moments of rain
reflections on the road.

will come for us,
party to the sound of a bell,
reach children with good news.


They will tell of a breadfruit tree to the hungry;
say
sentencing for those who trample the shadows and their sun.

will play the streets
back to life draw,
with the idea of \u200b\u200ba kite.

We are already other solitudes,
those encountered on the street,
get wet in the rain life
incorciatore and the brevity of a look

in a pool.

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borderland

We like oleanders,
the land border.

How much effort is hidden in becoming
never perceive
the thin line that separates the before and after the time
formed
as in a womb,
in the room.

E 'fatigue
light of dawn after a long night without stars
and thought you clandestine
as the cry of belonging to an apology.

He tends short like life,
my room.



Beatrice Niccolai
borderland

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exist

Exist.

I remember him every day
your absence.

one where
arms around me, I'll try
.


engraved with a note on the staff of silence
creaking swing between two hedges.

Laurel.

the nostril of misfortune, the
be all that are
half tone above the waist,
half tone in your neighborhood,

nothing resembling an apology or foreshadows
a meeting
or infidelity dream

Fog

As dawn winter
just waiting to become.

Beatrice Niccolai
'ESISTO'

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Nuestras nujeres

us Our nujeres sonos
And everything we
Neva contains the dor of washed blanquerta manoen escitorio to the secrecy. Our

nujeres are sunflowers in bloom
In the battle of the dies and dor
fresh, clean clothes lying
Aur aptera after sunset

Our alliance collada sonos nujeres

Established with the tenacity of life, sweetness, errors. In our nujeres

I am the wanderer. Our nujeres


Tell us
different languages \u200b\u200baround the same table in the groin
But God uninterrupted
Washed in the same waters des Jordan, inside, wet
each a different color


Our nujeres formed together
A flag




Our nujeres
Beatrice Niccolai

tradotto dall'anonima D.

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for sheer force of desperation

C'ingraviderà ancora,
ancora per molti SECOLI the
Pazienza and partoriremo nel'eterna attesa,
more days.

That 's where the absence of delirium
generates light of hope.

Everything I talk about you. All
. The silence of silence. In the hands

,
how to embrace the child or to protect the woman,
formed from nothing, to
only force of desperation,

the world.

Beatrice Niccolai
by sheer force of desperation

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prayer

is in the hands
unravel the knots in their hearts and hair
women. However

node that does not dissolve
strengthens the subtle prayer
that knows no sun.

The most beautiful prayers
to sew around the hope
with care, women.

Then wear them with dignity when they go through their silence

to go near the heart
washing clothes.


Beatrice Niccolai