(by Paolo Volponi)
The enemy nature that remains to me,
the image of Urbino
that I cannot escape,
his cruel celebration,
quiet among my anger.
I should leave this
if I had the courage
to leave my loved ones
wounds heal
Leave this hilly wind
that bends the wheat and the olive,
that brings puffs of the sea
among the living sandstone.
Leave this late moon,
on the diamond of buildings,
this white saliva
on all the terraces,
where friends and girls
they spread the soft canvases
of their unfaithful love.
Let the warm breath
of the sun on the walls,
the long torture of houses,
the same storm
that has been coming back for years,
even if my life is not the same in its entirety
and abandons itself every hour.
Ancient on the walls
it's my home;
immobile and unsafe
it seems to sail
among the clouds like rivieras
in the river cloud
of wild evenings
The womb-shaped sky
devours the city;
then he feels like he's dying
everything around
and each one is about to suffer
from your heart
It's the wind, at the edge of the day,
that murmurs among the hills,
that clears the countryside in front of me
or with the black shadow of the clouds
it makes it disappear
who plays with me
pretending to escape
and then with a faint air
returns to whiten the hills
The wind of uncertain nature
who passes like a boy
behind hedges or walls,
without nothing,
like someone taking a step away
or forever;
nothing more than remorse
and a drink of water in the fields
The city trembles in the heart of its courtyards,
it opens its back to vile conspiracies
of time, and lies dying
over U.S
Then the hanging gardens
they bend the hostile shadow of the pines
towards that point on the horizon,
new every evening,
where I will never reach
free from bad thoughts,
from enemy fate
that my love punishes.
