Guccini Francesco
Miscellaneous
The Rains of April
The Rains of April (Francesco Guccini)
But where did those April Rains go
that washed away in half an hour a soul or a road
and they quickly polished a thought or a courtyard
piercing the hard and new earth like a sword,
but where those spring rains
when you slept on your back , and if I woke you up you laughed,
then slowly you made me laugh too
with your light games.
But where those endless summers,
without knowing the word nostalgia,
/>only green color of lizards and little girls
and in the mouth the dry snap of epiphany,
but where those immeasurable seasons
when every day depicted the years to come
and where every autumn when the summer ended
you found the precise desire to start again.
What will you do now with these days that you sing
of the almost necessary doubts that have arisen in you
of the emptied moments, pressing shadows
of us dead people,
what can you do with those finite energies,
of all those historical after-dinner phrases;
the time of sun and wounds having been consumed forever,< br/>it's enough to just live,
it's enough to just live.
And now we live in this in-between season,
split and offended by agonizing and desperate days,
along which even the the best ones give themselves a price
and the old unfortunate loves dry up around you,
where without any more history we travel the world
looking only for a sincere moment
with the unconscious desire to reach further ' basically
to be more true.
But where did those April showers go?
I await them here like a sudden slap
like a gesture, a scream or a subtle mood
to the point of being imbued with it,
I ask that they fall again on my horizon
narrow and stingy with these corsair desires,
to give me a thieving opportunity, an infinite, a
bridge, to start again.