L'uomo di Monaco - Nomadi

E guardai, scrutai, quel vecchio a Monaco

Quel sorriso, quella birra quante cose poi pensai,

La mia mente a una folla di sguardi fissati

Dietro a quei fili spinati.

E lo spiai, scrutai, divise immaginai,

Di uno che, marci, l’Europa calpest,

La mia mente a una folla di sguardi spietati

Fuori da quei fili spinati.

Lo guardai

Nel fondo dei suoi occhi

Lo fissai

Insistendo sempre pi Per vedere se c’era

Colpa o, paura

Perch, per quale ragione.

E guarda, scrutai, niente poi notai

Solo rughe sul viso, dal tempo seminate,

Non aveva artigli, tremavan le sue mani

Come quelle di mio padre.

Lo guardai…

Ritornai poi, ancora a Monaco

Lo cercai, ma ormai, lui non era pi,

La mia mente, quella folla, quelle mani

Tra un volo di gabbiani.

And I looked, I looked, that old man in Munich

That smile, that beer how many things then I thought,

My mind to a crowd of fixed gazes

Behind those barbed wires.

And I spied on him, I scrutinized, I imagined uniforms,

Of one who, rotten, Europe tramples,

My mind to a crowd of merciless looks

Out of those barbed wires.

I looked at him

In the back of his eyes

I stared at him

Insisting more and more To see if there was

Guilt or, fear

Why, for what reason.

And look, I looked, then I noticed nothing

Only wrinkles on the face, sown by time,

He had no claws, his hands were shaking

Like my father's.

I looked at him ...

Then I returned to Munich again

I looked for him, but by now, he was no longer,

My mind, that crowd, those hands

Between a flight of seagulls.