Demà [English translation]

Mother says that every three seconds,

after the siren, outside there, they play a game.

They make explode a thousand paper bags,

but that I cannot go there, that it’s still too cold.

We spend a moment inside the room,

with the thread of the light bulb that can’t provide much brightness,

and with a gentleman to whom they speak but he’s not there.

I think that my tin horse is already bored.

I watch the wallpaper

that has a design I don’t quite like.

Mother tells me to clean the plate,

and that there’s a hole in the spoon.

And that tomorrow, maybe tomorrow,

amid a thousand things that cross my mind,

I will find a star

hidden among millions of winters.

And that I’ll be allowed to choose, maybe tomorrow,

among three lives that a cat should have.

We’ll count backwards through the first one.

Mother says that time is a treasure,

that it’s invisible to the eyes and keeps the rhythm of the heart;

that it turns around to make simulations,

and it waits inside a clock for tomorrow to be already there.

I can still hear the paper bags

behind the weight of the ceiling that today acts as the sky.

And I think about the words that there are in the world,

until a dream punches its weight, until sleep arrives.

A monotonous sound of the violin

comes from the radio next door.

Mother says that I’m lucky

that neither a dragon, nor a wolf exists.

And that tomorrow, maybe tomorrow,

amid a thousand things that cross my mind,

I will find a star

hidden among millions of winters.

And that I’ll be allowed to choose, maybe tomorrow,

among three lives that a cat should have.

We’ll count backwards through the first one.

And that I’ll be allowed to choose, maybe tomorrow,

among three lives that a cat should have.

We’ll count backwards through the first one.