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Where my country lies

4/3/2015

 
Picture
“Can you tell me where my country lies?”
said the unifaun to his true love’s eyes.
“It lies with me!” cried the Queen of Maybe
- for her merchandise, he traded in his prize.

(Genesis, Selling England by the pound)


L’aria della sera sembrava caricarsi di elettricità ed attese minuto dopo minuto. La voce della città e i suoi toni aumentavano senza interruzione, si amplificavano, scivolavano ed invadevano come un mare di acqua le vie intorno, i vicoli e le piazzette. Si arrampicavano sulle scalinate, conquistavano i porticati, penetravano a fondo nelle strette viuzze secondarie.
Fiumi di passanti sciamavano nella stessa direzione quasi travolgendo i pochi che a fatica cercavano spazio nella direzione opposta. Le auto, via via più rumorose mano a mano che si avvicinavano, quasi splendevano baciate dalla pioggia sottile e riflettevano il giallo oro delle luci dei lampioni e le miriadi di piccolissime lampade che già adornavano ogni strada.

Lente, quasi impacciate procedevano frusciando appena sull’asfalto bagnato, quasi sfiorando i passanti comunque tranquilli ed abituati alla situazione. Padroni della strada, comunque.

Camminando lungo la via affollata avvertivi l’eccitazione dei giorni di festa e il suo sapore aspro ed irrequieto.
Il cielo scuro e la pioggia leggera non bastavano a smorzare la frenesia della città che aveva appena iniziato la sua corsa verso la notte.
Una delle tante notti da vivere in piedi.
Taxi scuri scivolavano lenti verso la cattedrale, grappoli di ragazzi a scherzare in attesa della sera e della notte, padri con bambini chiusi in carrozzine protette da plastica trasparente contro la pioggia si incamminavano senza neanche troppa fretta verso Tesco.
Altri tornavano proprio da lì, le buste cariche di spesa appese alle braccia.

“Paper late!” cried a voice in the crowd.
“Old man dies!” The note he left was signed ‘Old Father Thames’
- it seems he’s drowned;
selling england by the pound.

(Genesis, Selling England by the pound)

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    Author

    ​Stories and novels, stories and shades of words. Sapphire can be a voice, a whisper, a night talk.  Colours in words, words merged and melted with pictures. Words as colours, words as shapes sometimes overlapping with the visual experience.  A different way to see the world or, maybe, just the very same way using different tools and finding different paths. ​

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  • Home
  • The Blogs
    • The sapphire blog
    • The crimson blog
    • The emerald blog
    • Wordpress space
  • Stories
    • TanzanEyes
    • The Masai girl
    • Rwanda
    • 3 Years later
    • India
  • Patterns of life
    • Schwetzingen
    • Silver in the morning
    • The other city
    • HumanNotHuman
    • Fading out
    • Those foggy days
    • StreetNoise
    • As the night gently talks
    • Assisi in Black and White
    • Praising the absence
    • Caesura
    • Convolution
    • Linee e forme
    • Be like water
    • Impulses
  • People
    • Juliet
    • Street portraits
  • About