The life and her experiences - almost always suffered - are experienced and treated in our innermost essence, are the lifeblood for our journey. The mind observes and writes everything down on the living condition of a notebook that will inevitably become our past, although having developed the ability to capture and process the size of many absences from which they originate our lives thinking, present and future.
(Antonio Ragone)
LACK
I met him through a street of mud
- the darkness hid his face and did not recognize him -
were all inside, sitting next
a mug of wine. I had not just me,
me, I was the last to arrive at the house of the fishermen.
wait for me for many years, and when I entered
everything was over, all those already
had left. O had never arrived?
No red wine stain on the tablecloth was,
that always flows in the drink. I went out.
The man who did not recognize out of the dark
not never met him, just because
simply never existed.
sensed the smell of the mist in the breath,
no lamp but dimly lit up the mud.
I was alone, and if anyone had ever met, we would
- he and I - even more alone.
Wandering, wandering, arrived at last at the port?
This, this, just for the salt air?
I never knew if it too had never existed,
the sea, I mean, so immense
to be really never existed.
That night, a good time, Nivea for centuries,
understood that nothing was tangible,
because nothing is what it actually yearn.
In the fog and the smell of the sea,
that has always for me only I had invented,
suddenly I thought to review
man hidden in the dark.
It was a moment, then disappeared, because there was not.
course because I was there.
Antonio Ragone (From "The island hidden" Editions Akkuaria 2007)
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