Lately I've been leaving a lot of dust accumulating on the blog, but are particularly dense commitments and activities.
This led to the final decision, after months of meditation, uncertainty reasoning: you return home. Going back.
Indeed no, no going back, it goes on , but it's back to Italy.
The reasons behind this choice I am not to list them all,
too long. I put them all in a bag, such as potatoes, and I drew my conclusions. How
Caesar crossing the Rubicon, I have taken my nut.
you return home. It makes me a little afraid to say, honestly.
say, think, write.
gets me close to the pit of my stomach remarkable. I have a fear
damned. I do not know why: the right choice, the best option, those who leave the old road for the new bla bla bla.
Now is the time to pack, say goodbye to the wonderful people that we met
in these two years, all in the house, such as Modena City Ramblers .
Bringing everything home : faces, names, experiences, good moments and moments at the edge dell'obbrobrioso.
Above us different, changed, grown up (I hope).
reports all in house, backpackers, it is shared.
a personal greeting to those who We met, we will return to see us;
a greeting to people you know through these pages, we will return to reread.
And a salute to this country, and particularly so controversial, with its civil rights
light years ahead of other Italians, its laws
innovative and in step with the times - in the energy sector for example - but also
with its internal divisions, heavy, difficult to understand and get married, most of the time.
Indeed, well let's face it, some have made it into slices with their nationalism,
autonomy, independence. Here everything is a matter of pride of identity, the
defend what is ours at the cost of committing e senza senso dire Barbarito.
tant'è Ma. Noi ci
if rimette in cammino, a tutti quanti a presto buona strada ed.
A HEART IN BARCELONA
When the square numbs
Barcelona closes his eyes and waves
leaves port
to leave messages on it
of sites of other worlds, always looking
Levante which is the longing for love.
When
sleepy plaza are only streetlights,
lazily making
light guards for the poor that untimely
looking for gold that will never find
if life left in this endeavor.
Ocaña The virgin knows all this,
from the top of the palm
where its altar,
claim to heaven, in full voice:
Where are the robbers of the poor?
Where are those who have stolen from the misery?
Where are those who steal anything they have?
Who seeks?
Where are they hiding?
Barcelona.
If the day is good, in the plaza feel
charity thieves,
is adorned with the sun while dreaming
of those many treasures stolen.
If the day is beautiful in the square quiet your heart
Barcelona.
Ocaña The virgin knows all this,
from the top of the palm
where its altar,
claim to heaven, in full voice:
Where are the robbers of the poor?
Where are those who have stolen from the misery? Where
estan los que nada poseen hurtan at home who? ¿Quién los
persigue?
if esconden ¿Dónde?
Barcelona.
Lluís Llach, 1988, Geography
