"All this he saw, for one moment breathless and intense, vivid on the morning sky; and still, as he looked, he lived; and still, as he lived, he wondered."

Chiara

Oggi mi hanno dedicato l’ennesima canzone… solo che questa volta non me l’aspettavo soprattutto per la persona da cui proviene la dedica. Grazie C, e tu come stai? Dove vai? Puoi telefonarmi, non ti mangio.

Chiara,
trasparente.
Chiara,
tutto e niente.
Storia
mai finita.
Come stai?
Chiara,
dell’acquario.
Chiara,
sguardo serio.
Aria
colorata,
meno male che non sei cambiata.
Dove vai?
Complice amica mia
in quella compagnia
su di noi le voci più maligne,
mentre la nostra idea d’amore
era parlarsi delle ore
e veder spuntare il sole,
ubriache come scimmie.
L’illusione di girare ancora un po’
sulle punte di una ballerina.
Chiara,
coraggiosa.
Chiara,
senza casa.
Sempre
innamorata,
è un peccato perdersi per strada.
Dove vai?
Complice amica mia
in quella compagnia
su di noi le voci più maligne,
mentre la nostra idea d’amore
era parlarsi delle ore
e veder spuntare il sole,
ubriache come scimmie.
L’illusione di girare ancora un po’
sulle punte di una ballerina.
L’emozione di provare a dire ‘no’
a una vita
che ogni giorno è come prima.

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Bulgakov’s The Fatal Eggs

Mikhail Bulgakov (Kyiv, 1891–1940) was a novelist, playwright, and former physician, whom I’m sure you know for The Master and Margarita, published posthumously. His work blends sharp satire, fantasy, grotesque comedy, and moral seriousness, often targeting Soviet bureaucracy and ideological hypocrisy, but I had no

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1 Comment
  • utente anonimo
    Posted at 00:02h, 07 March Reply

    Di chi è questa canzone che ricordo di aver sentio per radio anni e anni e anni fa? almeno due decenni?
    Grazie
    R

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