silent, weary soul to enjoy and to suffer
(One or the other go
resigned). No
your voice I hear if I listen to:
not regret the miserable
youth, not of anger or hope, nor
of tedium.
Lie down as the body, speechless, all full of
a hopeless resignation.
No wonder,
is not true, my soul, if the heart stopped
, suspended if there was
your breath ...
Instead we walk, we walk
and I like sleepwalkers.
And the trees are trees, the houses are
homes, women are women who spend
, and everything is
that is, only that it is.
The story of joy and pain
does not affect us. Has lost his voice
the siren of the world, and the world is a big
desert.
I look in the desert with dry eyes myself.
Camillo Sbarbaro
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