SONG FOR CARLOS
"Genova, crushed the sea seems to be looking
breath off toward the skyline.
Genoa, Republican of heart, wind, salt,
core strong.
Genoa that is lost in the labyrinthine old city center alleys, old and new words
shoot shots as muskets.
Genoa, that July day, on a scorching hot
of Black Africa.
ball only to lead, the roar of people, tense atmosphere.
Black or blue uniform, accurate orders, sweat and anger;
faces and shields Hoplites, hatred inside like a scab.
But little more distance, a senior and an old dog
looked slow an airplane that was staining the sea;
a voice broke the ecstatic screaming of children.
cloths lying in the sun, like a joke, in the gardens.
leave the house at twenty years is almost an obligation, almost a duty,
pleasure of meeting in clusters, ideal identical, being and having,
the large crowd called, songs and colors, screaming and advances, the challenge
implacable sun, incredible dance step. Closed bars
Genoa, Genoa suffers as a prison.
Genoa marked sight awaits a breath of liberation. Inside the offices
men discussed the strategy
cold and hot men explode a rap, death and madness.
It breaks the time and moment, for a moment, he hangs,
hung in a dark and nothing, then the absurd video back on;
puppets move, looking for an excuse to those lives
dissipated and dispersed nell'aspro smell of cordite.
Genoa does not know anything yet, slowly dying, fire and noise, but as that
young life extinguished, Genoa dies. How many days
hatred strike again at his hands full.
Genoa responds to the port with the high scream of sirens.
Then it all begins like every day and who has the right, noble men
say, give implacable justification
as if there was a way, only one, to bring
a life cut short, a whole life to imagine.
Genoa has not forgotten because it is hard to forget,
is no traffic, sea and dancing emphasis and alleys to walk. La Lanterna
impassive looks for centuries the rocks and the waves. Back
as always, almost normal, square Alimonda. The
"Salvia splendens" glitters, triangular flower bed covers,
traffic usually travels fast and smooth scrolling.
From coffee and grappa bar, a kiosk selling green life.
Resta, bitter and indelibly, the trace of an open wound. "
Guccini-square-Alimonda From" Portraits "
" ... Carlo, can you hear the voices in the Streets
Singing you a lullaby We are all
We are all illegal immigrants now
And the mystery's gone, the battle lines drawn
Everything still goes just before
the storm And the hard wind that's coming will carry your name
My young friend, hello beautiful, keep the flame ... "From the song
Colm Bryce
From Charles Song for" peace, love and petrol bombs
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