Le nuvole che si affacciavano
incuriosite dai tetti
e dalle montagne intorno
accorrono sulla scena del delitto
a passi svelti pesanti e grigi
di poliziotti in assetto antisommossa.

Noi fuggiamo riparandoci
sotto i portici delle magnolie
che scagliano lontano i loro calici bianchi.

Nel buio della tempesta sentiamo
le grida del dio della pioggia.
A sua immagine il nostro cuore
piange ma sommessamente.

Tempête

Le vent pousse les meules
enfermé dans les pressoirs,
brise les vitres aux fenêtres
déchire les rideaux des balcons
plie à son gré
les pics des arbres.
En tant que gagnant, il les braque comme des lames
contre les bourgeons de la terre.

Les nuages qui se montraient aux toits
et aux montagnes autour
se précipitent sur les lieux du crime
avec les marches rapides lourdes et grises
de la police en mise anti-émeute.

Nous nous enfuyions en nous réparant
sous les arcades des magnolias
qui jettent loin leurs gobelets blancs.

Nous entendons dans l’obscurité de l’orage
les cris du dieu de la pluie.
A son image, notre cœur
pleure mais doucement.

Storm

The wind pushes the millstones
closed in the mills,
breaks window panes
tears the curtains of the balconies
fold to her will
the proud tree peaks.
As a winner, he point them like blades
against the shoots of the earth.

The clouds that showed themselves on the roofs
and on the mountains around
they rush to the scene of the crime
with heavy and gray fast steps
of police in riot gear.

We escape by repairing ourselves
under the arcades of the magnolias
who throw their white goblets away.

We hear in the darkness of the storm
the cries of the rain god.
In his image, our heart
cries but softly.