"Tradita"

In this Milan so gray ...
Where the rain is the host and chimneys belching smoke ....
Clouds darkened hotel room ....

What is outside is also inside ...
A soul gray,
A pain gray,
A framework gray.

My colors are so far away
certainties collapsed ... ...
Precarious balance.

I am standing on trembling hands.
I bow to a truth that hurts.
Collapse on the images of my thoughts.
And while I throw another gray on my picture ...
I lick my wounds ...!