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Streets are empty

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Streets are empty

Streets are empty at noon
and the slow noise

of the train

thrills me:

the silence

is not a bad companion

if you walk on a dusty road,

it leaves you the time

to recall your memories

to close your hands

keeping your dreams inside

and to consider

things as relatives.

And if some tear

drags graves onto my cheeks

it's easy

to misunderstand them with sweat

remove them with a distracted finger

and stop

one moment

to rest.

At night

when shadows outside

will be mixed with my fears

and with my pain

they will back again

with renewed strenght

but now

with the sun only master of this sky

I won't be sad


to have crossed your road

one time

and to have seen

inside the glowing light of your hairs

something I liked;

I won't feel bad


for any of your freedom's speech

for any of your not spoken words


for your silence too.

Untold evening tale

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