Rezultatele căutării pagină 3

I Am Afraid

I'm afraid. The evening is gray and the sadness
of the sky opens like the mouth of a corpse.
My heart has a weeping of princess
forgotten at the bottom of a deserted palace.
 
I'm afraid. And I feel so tired and small
that I reflect the evening without meditating on her.
(In my sick head a dream may not fit
just as a star has not fit in the sky.)
 
Even so a question exists in my eyes
and there is a shout in my mouth that my mouth doesn't shout.
There's no ear on earth that hears my sad bemoaning
abandoned in the middle of the infinite earth!
 
The universe dies from a calm agony
without the feast of the sun or the green twilight.
Saturn agonizes like a sorrow of mine,
Earth is a black fruit that the sky bites.
 
And through the vastness of the emptiness go
blindly the evening clouds like lost boats
that would hide broken stars in their holds.
 
And the death of the world falls over my life.
 

If You Forget Me

I want you to know
one thing.
 
You know how this is:
if I look
at the crystal moon, at the red branch
of the slow autumn at my window,
if I touch
near the fire
the impalpable ash
or the wrinkled body of the log,
everything carries me to you,
as if everything that exists,
aromas, light, metals,
were little boats
that sail
toward those isles of yours that wait for me.
 
Well, now,
if little by little you stop loving me
I shall stop loving you little by little.
 
If suddenly
you forget me
do not look for me,
for I shall already have forgotten you.
 
If you think it long and mad,
the wind of banners
that passes through my life,
and you decide
to leave me at the shore
of the heart where I have roots,
remember
that on that day,
at that hour,
I shall lift my arms
and my roots will set off
to seek another land.
 
But
if each day,
each hour,
you feel that you are destined for me
with implacable sweetness,
if each day a flower
climbs up to your lips to seek me,
ah my love, ah my own,
in me all that fire is repeated,
in me nothing is extinguished or forgotten,
my love feeds on your love, beloved,
and as long as you live it will be in your arms
without leaving mine.
 

Poetry

And it was at that time...Poetry came
to find me. I don't know, I don't know where
it came from, from winter or a river.
I don't know how or when,
no, they weren't voices, they weren't
words, or silence,
but from a street, it called me,
from the boughs of the night,
suddenly amongst the others,
between violent fires
or returning alone,
it was there faceless
and it touched me.
 
I didn't know what to say, my mouth
didn't know what
to call it,
my eyes were blind,
and something was beating in my soul,
a fever or lost wings,
I just kept going,
analyzing
that burning,
and I wrote my first vague line,
vague, no substance, pure
nonsense,
pure wisdom
from which one knows nothing,
and suddenly I saw
the sky
uncovered
and open,
planets,
throbbing plantations,
the pierced darkness,
riddled by arrows, fire and flowers,
the overpowering night, the universe.
 
And me, a tiny being,
inebriated by the great void
filled with stars,
in the image and likeness
of the mystery,
I felt I was a part of the pure
abyss,
I wandered with the stars,
my heart was unleashed in the wind.
 

Perhaps not being is being without you knowing

Perhaps not being is being without you knowing,
without you going cutting the midday
like a blue flower, without you walking
later through the fog and the bricks,
 
without this light that you carry in your hand
which perhaps others may not see as golden,
which perhaps grew without anyone knowing
like the red origin of the rose,
 
without you knowing, in the end, without you coming
abrupt, inviting, to come to know my life,
burst of rosebush, wheat of wind,
 
and from then I am because you are,
and from then you are, I am and we are,
and for love I shall be, you shall be, we shall be.