Il sogno di Maria (English translation)
In the damp, dark interior of the temple
shadows were cold and filled with incense smoke.
The angel came, as he did every night,
to teach me a new prayer.
Then, suddenly, he opened my hands
and my arms became wings.
When he asked me "Do you know what summer is?"
for a day, for a single moment
I ran to see the color of wind.
We truly flied over houses
beyond gates, gardens and streets.
Then we glided over valleys in bloom
where grapes embrace olive trees.
We drifted down where the day fades
to look for itself among all the green
and he spoke and it sounded like a prayer
and at the end of each prayer
he counted a vertebra down my back.
The long shadows of priests
locked my dream in a circle of voices
I wanted to fly away with the wings I had received
but my arms were naked, unable to fly.
Then I saw the angel transform into a comet
and the stern faces turned into stone,
their arms like the outline of branches
frozen in the gestures of another life,
their hands like leaves, their fingers like thorns.
Voices from the street, the sounds of people
took me away from the dream and brought me back to the present.
The image and its colors faded away
but the faint echo of a few words
was repeating the odd prayer of an angel
and maybe it was a dream, but I wasn't sleeping.
"He will be called the son of God"
Vague words in my mind,
fading in a dream, but imprinted in my womb.
And the exhausted words
dissolved in tears
but fear left the lips
and thickened in the eyes
half closed to fake
that burns and waits
for a forgiving glance.
And you placed your fingers, softly
on the margin of her forehead.
Old men, if they want to caress,
are afraid of having heavy hands.
Fabrizio De André: Top 3
|1.||Canzone del maggio [versione alternativa]|
|2.||La guerra di Piero|