I sogni sono la rugiada del pensiero con cui possiamo innaffiare il prato della realtà.

 
 
Dreams are the dew of thought with which we can watering the lawn of reality

Comments

  1. fiammettaDecember 20, 2010 at 7:18 PM

    Questa frase è bellissimam ma la foto più che rugiada è puro ghiaccio!!!

    ReplyDelete

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

The turbulent sea and the fisherman

Image
In the gentle and pleasant bosom of the vast nature The mighty and devouring sea is defiant and turbulent in stature, on this day the continuous flamboyant waves are extremely angry And the people are afraid of such fury. Far away in the deep The fishermen are thinking about their fate, As they are listening the waves' threat; They know they may come back or not, This is always the gravest thought, But this is not the horror of a day Year after year there is no ray. ANJANDEV ROY
Translator powered by google

Ode all’allegria: una poesia di Pablo Neruda

Image
Oggi ti invoco, allegria. Come la terra sei necessaria. Come il fuoco sostieni i focolari. Come il pane sei pura. Come l’acqua d’un fiume sei sonora. Come un’ape Distribuisci miele volando. Allegria, fui un giovane taciturno, credetti che la tua chioma fosse scandalosa. Non era vero, me ne resi conto quando sul mio petto essa si sciolse in cascata. Oggi allegria, incontrata per strada, lontano da ogni libro, accompagnami. Con te voglio andare di casa in casa, voglio andare di gente in gente, di bandiera in bandiera. Tu non appartieni soltanto a me, Andremo sulle isole, sui mari. Andremo nelle miniere, nei boschi. E non soltanto boscaioli solitari, povere lavandaie o spigolosi, augusti tagliapietre, mi riceveranno con i tuoi grappoli, ma i congregati, i riuniti, i sindacati del mare o del legno, i valorosi ragazzi nella loro lotta. Con te per il mondo! Con il mio canto! Con il volo socchiuso della stella, e con la gioia del...
Translator powered by google

I like for you to be still ......

I like for you to be still: it is as though you were absent, and you hear me from far away and my voice does not touch you. It seems as though your eyes had flown away and it seems that a kiss had sealed your mouth. As all things are filled with my soul you emerge from the things, filled with my soul. You are like my soul, a butterfly of dream, and you are like the word Melancholy. I like for you to be still and you seem far away. It sounds as though you were lamenting, a butterly cooing like a dove. And you hear me from far away, and my voice does not reach you: Let me come down to be still in your silence. And let me talk to you with your silence that is bright as a lamp, simple as a ring. You are like the night, with its stillness and constellations. Your silence is that of a star, as remote and candid. I like for you to be still: it is as though you were absent, distant and full of sorrow as though you had died. One word then, one smile, is enough. And I...
Translator powered by google