The Little Book of the Dead

The Little Book of the Dead - Ida

I sit here in front of the sea—blue water, light wind, hot is the sun, I sit among the cacti on a bench overlooking the sea along the small promenade that runs along the coves of the Castiglioncello sea.
Am I happy? Maybe. I am alone. And in my loneliness I remember you, Ida.
You saw the sea for the first time—you were 60—only one magic word it was until that day.
You, Ida, you believed that rain brings frogs from one place to another.
What a strange creature you have been? You, who at the age of 5 were riding a horse bareback through the forests near Volterra? You, who, when my grandfather saw you for the first time at eighteen, made him think—she has large, firm breasts like marble that I could sit on?
What a strange creature you have been in this world, you?
This sea has forgotten you, yet the wind whispers you—you dead whisper—you alive I keep.

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The temple of youth

The yearning for death is but a swift race seeking to curtail our tormented pace. There lies a sacredness in thy yearning toward the highest good wildly striving. Toss the gaze heavenward and grasp the truth! In death, we lie upon and cast the temple of youth.

Guardando l'Amore di una madre con le sue figlie

Siete fatte della stessa pasta Di stesso sangue e spirito apposta Create - e vivete il mondo unite. Solo voi vostra lingua capite. Io curioso vi guardo lontano. Altro universo vivo io e so invano di non essere voi e mi stupisco, ma la materia vostra oh capisco! E' fatta di altra tessitura, la mia invece è sfilacciatura, e in altro spazio e tempo ascoso sto relegato triste, invidioso.

Il filo invisibile

In Jonas Memoriam Strana e triste è la vita lei sola nasceva e lui solo moriva migliaia di chilometri lontani per pochi soli mesi un anno li univa ma usi diversi li divideva - il nuovo e il vecchio quotidiani.

Fabrizio Ulivieri

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