I paint the notes of a habanera1
which is blue like water of an old sea,
white like foam, sweet like air,
gray like seagulls, gold by images
in evening gown.
I watch the scenery, I look for words
to fill the verses without unease.
Pines hug me, I hear how they are quiet,
the wind blows away the whole horizon.
If I could become scale
and hide at the beach
to hear sounds and evenings of the past,
of that world of nostalgia,
love and calm, scented with moon, fire and rum.
If I could climb the highest wave
and adorn the memory with palm trees,
sprinkling every cove with cinnamon
as well as making them a cradle with shells.
Old people, full of tenderness, talk to me
about hours lived with emotion,
when they were young, strong and brave,
princes of the net, heros of the storm,
friends of the good weather.
Eyes invent new stories,
vessels coming back from a sunny place
carry loving songs,
women and Country, sails and flowers.
If I could become scale
and hide at the beach
to hear sounds and evenings of the past,
of that world of nostalgia,
love and calm, scented with moon, fire and rum.
If I could climb the highest wave
and adorn the memory with palm trees,
sprinkling every cove with cinnamon
as well as making them a cradle with shells.
1. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Contradanza