The Time

            I can’t forget my black watch

            Sad and slow knight of the hours

            I can’t say why and, perhaps, what

            This piece of time means and who’s the owner

            The owner of Time, my Life, my Days

            To turn the clock back (my childhood!)

            To set the clock ahead (my death), she says

            To wind up the clock (a lost arrow in wood!)

            I need to see, to think

            “What time is it?”

            My world is so fast, so sick...

            I need to take time to seat

            And to listen to this music

            Spring - love, sparrows – Vivaldi?

            Is this fantasy, union, link?

            I can foresee the ghost of Frescobaldi!

            That sensation I’ve never felt

            At Big Ben, Scotland’s Highlands

            At Manhattan or Missouri cotton belt

            Time is “runner” like blood or sand

            I want the time to love, to kiss, to own

            Embracing “saudade”, tears are falling

            My past is destroyed, the grass is grown

            Spirits are travelling, lovers are calling

           

I’m a dead poet like Eliot or Shakespeare

            A morbid angel like Hemingway, Steinbeck or Byron

            Vishnu’s dream, Icaro’s sun, broken mirror

            Because of my watch, this thief of iron!

            I don’t wanna know A.M. or P.M.

            I don’t want the five o’ clock tea

            I want my May Queen and my life again

            I don’t like this “tick-tack-tick”!

            So, I never leave home without it

            I never leave Life without sin or evil touch

            I hate this life with seconds and heart beat

            And I don’t want this fuckin’ black watch!!!