Click here for italian version: https://loscrittorevolante.com/2020/12/11/poesia-inverno/
When you arrive, you are almost intrusive.
I would go into hibernation if I were an animal.
I would stay still, waiting for it to pass.
But I like it when everyone, or almost everyone,
is at home.
So it’s all mine when I go out and walk.
I can enjoy true solitude and silence.
I can almost scream into thin air, venting my true anger.
And it is pleasure. And you are like a refuge,
Because when I go out,
I feel my own warmth on me,
I feel my breath, the condensation on my glasses, with this mask on me,
I almost no longer weigh, this also serves to feel less cold.
You are like a shelter,
because when I go out, and I relax, in this cold, because you are intrusive,
but less than the heat, then I want to go home.
But I find the cold, so beautiful.
Like any sensation I have, it always makes me
An immense pleasure to feel alive. With everything I feel, be it peace or war,
pleasure or pain.
Every feeling I have you know,
I want to feel it inside, until the end.
And I feel this cold anyway, and someone like me, this year,
feels the lack of human warmth, more than anything else.
And you would be so perfect, if it weren’t for all this rain,
it breaks my balls, and I would play with those of snow, becoming a child again.
From a childhood never lived,
where I come from, there is no snow.
And in fact, it is a thing lived in Bolo, at most.
And you are so fresh, you make me feel at home, in a way that I don’t understand,
neither do I.
And finally, your sky is so different…
and it’s better to look for the stars, especially the falling ones, just when there is a shortage.