Talor, mentre cammino per le strade
della città tumultuosa solo,
mi dimentico il mio destino d’essere
uomo tra gli altri, e, come smemorato,
anzi tratto fuor di me stesso, guardo
la gente con aperti estranei occhi.
M’occupa allora un puerile, un vago
senso di sofferenza e d’ansietà
come per mano che mi opprima il cuore.
Fronti calve di vecchi, inconsapevoli
occhi di bimbi, facce consuete
di nati a faticare e a riprodursi,
volpina stupid faces blessed,
ambiguous faces of priests, painted faces
prostitutes within the brain
painfully impressed upon me.
And I know the trick by which they live,
the pain I put the fold
on their lips, always hopes
disappointed
uselessness of their lives and their bitter fate Finally, the dark.
that each of them brings with it the condemnation of
exist, but are
forget that and all, each
dall'attimo busy passing,
distracted from his favorite vice.
I feel a discomfort similar to those who see
chasing butterflies
along the edge of a precipice, or a company
convicted of strange smile.
And if this little hard, I really
at that moment in m'impauro
to see that men are many.
(Camillo Sbarbaro)
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