The colored lights at night are beautiful.
The colored lights illuminate the soul, the empty room. The darkness in which we are immersed boundaries immense and endless space.
The colored lights are beautiful just because there's nothing around. Not even the memory of a time gone or the flavor of times with no history.
Meanwhile, Christmas comes with a load of fake smiles and greetings cards, colored and shining eyes.
But the colored lights to acknowledge them only in the dark, when everything around is nonsense.
Day or surrounded by gleaming windows have no joy, no light, do not give you depth. With Christmas getting closer, the starched shirt and a candle to the unspoken desire in the narrow old hand let's slow steps on the road without knowing where we stop to think or watch children play.
Still in the dark room I think I'd do the movements.
burning piece of cardboard in the fireplace, I would like a child again at least for one night and look at the window overlooking the orchard, so small as to seem immense.
Out of the dark, my reflection on the glass. An eye for an eye and all was well my darkness. Who knows what would have been the next day, but tonight, maybe just for that night, I saw the lights lit up like trails of hope. The colored lights
draw images meaningless, as everyday actions. The trust you have in things, however, is impossible to imagine designs.
Christmas quando arriva cancella i brutti propositi portando i lumi della speranza in lunghe processioni, dentro Chiesa piene di credenti e finti santi.
Le luci colorate che non illuminano la stanza, mi danno un segno di riconoscimento, un punto lontano, un segno sfuocato. Posso arrivare fin là.
Poco importa se lontano sento bombe a mano scoppiare o se non azzecco una cinquina da quattro anni. Sono solo le apparenze, ciò che è certo è che le luci colorate nella notte sono belle.
cacato dalla capa di 
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