let yourself be

under this grey suburban sky
just like so let yourself live

without raising dust
if not that of arrogance

without disturbing the sleep
If not that of consciousness

without changing position
If not for kneeling to embrace those who are weaker and  fragile

tell me, do you feel these sighs of freedom in the wind?

feeble and light verses
like a silk handkerchief stretched out to dry in the storm

I do
  I hear them
  as a fresh fragrance of orange leaves and cinnamon,
  and there, among those gentle folds,
now
  I calm down and rest

  under this pale Sun
I do not own
  I am
only an embroidery of life in the wind
and what must be now and always
 le it be
without raising dust
without bothering the sleep
without leaving a trace
If not that of a caress
under this grey suburban sky

Marco Bo