Questo amore2......

[Genyo]

Giusy, la canzone continua...
una verità che si produce lentamente, dolcemente, con pudore.
Un pudore che tuttavia si fa strada nell'abbraccio
aprendosi e abbracciando il petto di fronte,
appoggiandosi, cingendo, senza stringere
ma fortemente presente...
poi, il tempo ti guarderà in faccia,
guarderà lui medesimo
senza sentimenti.

[Liquid Sky]

La Musica

Spesso è un mare, la musica, che mi prende ogni senso!
A un bianco astro fedele,
sotto un tetto di brume o nell’etere immenso,
io disciolgo le vele. Gonfi come una tela i polmoni di vento,
varco su creste d’onde,
e col petto in avanti sui vortici m’avvento
che il buio mi nasconde. D’un veliero in travaglio la passione mi vibra
in ogni intima fibra;
danzo col vento amico o col pazzo ciclone
sull’infinito gorgo.
Altre volte bonaccia, grande specchio ove scorgo
la mia disperazione!

(Charles Baudelaire)


Il mio mare tascabile...

[Liquid Sky]

Thursday's Child

All of my life I've tried so hard
Doing my best with what I had
Nothing much happened all the same

Something about me stood apart
A whisper of hope that seemed to fail
Maybe I'm born right out of my time
Breaking my life in two

[CHORUS]
Throw me tomorrow
Now that I've really got a chance
Throw me tomorrow
Everything's falling into place
Throw me tomorrow
Seeing my past to let it go
Throw me tomorrow
Only for you I don't regret
That I was Thursday's child

Monday Tuesday Wednesday born I was
Monday Tuesday Wednesday born I was
Thursday's child

Sometimes I cried my heart to sleep
Shuffling days and lonesome nights
Sometimes my courage fell to my feet

Lucky old sun is in my sky
Nothing prepared me for your smile
Lighting the darkness of my soul
Innocence in your arms...

(David Bowie)

[insofferente]

My mistress' eyes are nothing like the Sun,
Coral is far more red, than her lips' red,
If snow be white, why then her breasts are dun:
If hairs be wires, black wiress grow on her head:

I have seen Roses damask'd, red and white,
But no such roses sec I in her cheeks,
And in the breath that my Mistress reeks.

I love to hear her speak, yet well I know,
That Music hath a far more pleasing sound:
Igrant I never saw a goddes go,
My Mistress when she walks treads on the ground.

And yet by heaven I think my love as rare,
As any she beli'd with false compare.

William Shakespeare - Sonetti (to a dark lady)

[insofferente]

I grant (correzione non eseguita - spazio). Pardon