The tempest

 The tempest


La Tempesta, 1502-1503 circa, olio su tela, VeneziaGallerie dell'Accademia.



The inspiration of my versifying gives me back my purity


Shaken in the storms and silences suffered


Caresses every wound that grieves my existence


Now that I recompose my lost steps


If rising again means finding harmony again…


Which muse would give me back poetry?


Of epic and sweetened songs


Of the sad heart; open the windows


Let the verses of Orpheus enchant the stones


And the fires of hell be quenched


What moment is more magical than a boarding


That calms my heart like a mirage


And of an air that calms the cries


Blueness and worlds now re-emerged


Like the truth of my verses


It would seem to have surfaced as in myths


The earth, the path that leads


Far from every grim danger

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