Click here for original version: https://loscrittorevolante.com/2021/05/27/poesiama-via-dove/
I don’t want to go away,
I don’t know where the fuck I would go.
By now, I don’t know many things anymore.
I don’t know what I want anymore.
Go away, yes, but where?
Sometimes, you think it’s enough to walk away,
but it’s like changing the prison.
Where do you run away?
In life there are various places,
where you are.
In life one is a slave to feelings,
in life, one is just lost.
Sometimes, you have to enjoy your own confusion as well.
And on certain nights, like this one,
that I see the sky, and the night,
I look at this city,
that I once hated,
now it looks beautiful to me.
I get lost, in the loss of my life,
in these things that I wish they weren’t part of,
but they are part of it.
I smell the night,
here, in the nostrils.
And therefore, I wonder:
Let’s fly away, but away where?
You know, at some point,
if you don’t want to go anywhere,
in the end you already know where to go, where to stay, in fact.
Maybe the desire to escape is over,
maybe there is no more need?
Well, much better this way…
‘cause it was so immature,
now you want certainty,