Le ore della sofferenza
Le ore della sofferenza erano spesso opache, come vetri appannati sulla primavera dei miei anni. Quelle ore avevano il disagio d’inopportune parole nelle rime della mia Canzone.
Come potevo sapere, allora, ch’esse erano lì, ad indicar discrete la via dell’Umiltà? Come potevo capire che, senza il dono divino del dolore, avrei vissuto a lungo il limbo di un inutile frou frou?
Mi è dolce (e duro assai) viaggiar la vita, adesso, in loro compagnia.
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The Hours of Suffering
The hours of suffering were opaque like steamy glass in the spring of years. Those hours had the uneasiness of mispoken words in the rhyme of my life’s song.
How could I have known then that they were there only to show me, discretely, the way to humility? How could I have known that without the divine gift of those hours I would have lived long in the limbo of useless frou frou... ?
Now it is with a hard sweetness that I walk through life in their company.
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Die Stunden des Leidens
Die Stunden des Leidens waren oft dunkel wie belegte Glasscheiben mitten im Frühling meiner Jahre. Jene Stunden hatten die Unbequemlichkeit von unangebrachten Worten in den Reimen meines Liedes.
Wie konnte ich wissen damals, dass sie dort waren diskret zu zeigen den Weg der Demut. Wie konnte ich das verstehen ohne die göttliche Gabe des Schmerzes, als hätte ich lange in der Vorhölle gelebt wie ein unwissender, leichtfertiger Mensch.
Meine Lebensreise ist süss (und auch schwer) jetzt, in ihrer Gesellschaft.
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