Stefano Russo - Passione

July

As I’m lying on the beach behind the cabins,

The place we were used to go,

I can hear far away the sound of the sea.

It's almost noon.

Digging my fingers in and out of the hot sand,

I miss the touch of your hand.

We are in July.

Is it too early?

Is it too late?

As I’m lying under the blue sky,

Drowning in an ocean of memories,

My mind goes to a time

When I was just a little boy

Playing with sand.

And you were by my side.

Paolo Driussi

In the June Light

We were flying like blindfolded gulls,
Over the roses in the June light.
But that was a long long time ago,
During our youth
So irresponsible, so ignorant.

Paolo Driussi

On a Late May Evening

You must not be surprised

If, living under your spell,

I will call your beautiful eyes my stars,

My destiny, my everything.

On a late May evening

Your kisses will make me drunk

And if I do not die of those kisses

I will not be worthy of life.

Paolo Driussi

APRIL SEA

 

Tomorrow it will still be love,

You and me

In the early afternoon on the solitary beach

In front of this April sea.

A little shy, a little excited.

Who knows!

After one year, you so close to me,

Almost by accident.

Do you want?

Don’t say it.

I do not want to know.

Let it remain a dream,

That can reveal gradually,

Maybe in a better way

From how I imagined it.

Paolo Driussi

THIS RAIN OF MARCH

When friends are gone,

The words will be lost in your mind,

You will know they are there,

But it will be as if they could not come from your own lips.

They will be pushed into the circle of your mind,

As fast as the drops of this incessant rain of March

Wandering from side to side,

Bouncing along the glass of the windows

And darting away.

Then you’ll understand that the meaning

Will be in the pleasure of being welcomed at last

After so long a time

Into another’s world.

Paolo Driussi.

FEBRUARY SUNDAY EVENING

Occasionally

But even more at the end of a Sunday

I start to think that

if there’s a hard currency to spend,

This is the time.

Where are you? I cannot see you.

Have you already gone?

There is no age or social class,

Or profession in which

The human being doesn’t own

This currency of the time

And is not subject to the dilemma

Of how to spend it.

Or to the sad embarrassment

Of not knowing how to spend it

Or the misery of a lazy 

And indifferent squandering

As if it were a  devalued currency.

Shall we meet again? 

Reply to the message, please

Slowly the train starts 

In this sad February Sunday evening.

Paolo Driussi.