I’m like a rose on its turgid stem that gives life while already it is waiting for the end. That’s the magic moment of the extreme splendor, the transparent and harmless splendor of good and evil, dreams and certainties, life and death. There it is, the elegant harmony of the simplest things. What matters is not dying but shining of honest life.   Ritta sto … Continua a leggere Roses

There are those mothers over there, the ones who have been prevented to celebrate with their sons their Mothers’ Day because they have been murdered by the hands of their children’d father… those mothers over there continue to be mothers however none could see them, however their children can give them no flower unless the one they put on their graves. Those mothers over there … Continua a leggere Those Mothers Over There