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Pedro Cescon

A Guitarist's Soul

When my heart bear the sorrow
And I feel a tear dropping by
I get this sadness as borrow
And force my guitar to cry

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Moonlight Moth

When moonlight lit
Moth's light wings
It shone bit by bit
In deep silver strings

At moth's demise
Many moon lit swings
In well come improvise
It inverted things

It turned to grit
Silver wind disguise
And made moon a twilit
In its shining arise

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I Took a Walk Around the World, To Ease My Troubled Mind

There was no care in my soul
Rain falling from the sky
My brain seeing the snow
And a tear going down my eye

There was no snow in the sky
Soul falling from my brain
My tear being seeing by the eye
And care going down with rain

There was a rain with my tear
Eye saw it falling as snow
My brain seeing no care
Sky going down my soul

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Rain, Sweet Rain

Rain falling in tears skies can't hold
They are heavy, and fast and cold,
Yet so precious that its fall's mold
Can become the nest of a new life's fold

So inconstant you may think it is alive,
For it can destroy or let thrive,
For it can be loved or despised,
For it can be benevolent or be mised

And it is so human, the rain,
(Although it is most inhuman thing around)
That when the human bears big pain
Eyes got inspiration found
In no more no less than rain,
For tears imitate the very rain-like stain

And will be a day of sorrow,
When stars have rain as borrow,
And then we won't say again:

[...] Read more

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The Beautiful Traits of the Rain

From the scents I know since my birth,
Rain's one is probably the oldest,
And near it all others bear dearth
In willing having rain's scent to best,
For rain's scent is sweetest in Earth,
It is creation of Earth's very breast,

From the sounds I reckon since creation,
Rain's one is probably most intimate,
For its singing fills me with a sensation
So seething, so kind and so great,
Yet so incomprehensible motivation,
That can calm my most burning hate,

I don't need a place to set,
For when rain falls then I'm at home,
And all my troubles I forget,
As long as the drops don't stop to come,
And the grass is kept wet,
And the cold air keeps me dumb,

[...] Read more

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A Carp in the Donut-Shaped Lake

(To Akira Kurosawa)

Swimming in the donut-shaped lake,
The carp goes round and round,
While not in the ocean where waves break,
It is in way more it could want for surround,

While it is not such a make,
None can say it is no found,
For it emule with perfection the sake
Of an environment meant to be confound
For something bigger than lake,
As for here carp goes round and round,

And while at carp's mistake,
Carp finds itself around,
To what comes to partake
Ocean's characteristic abound,

And carp seems to forsake,

[...] Read more

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