Translated from the Romanian by Iuliana Pittman
Image used for representation.
I dream again, it snows
I break open ‘till the end
bruised, I look down
I’m losing all battles with sleep
I kiss my father’s hands
when he slowly dies
one minute a day
and give me his vines
his reason to live for
bloodstained winter
comes like a punch in an empty stomach
I’m listening to my poems on the radio
crying has a sense now
I do the table turning
and call only the good ancestors
the old king
comes at midnight
and blows the candle out
the white horse gallop
throw behind some pearls
From a star
my grandfather winks
and Thursday’s on fire
Today, it’s raining mud
the Earth has left its hinges
and roll over the places
nervously
to find the right place
for sleep
On a night like this
the morning will never come
the solitude got us sedated
and I can’t even get to your lips
all the sadness
you kept it in your eyes
it’s raining all over the sky
the hands hallucinate
in the darkness
in the word
Also, read a book review of The Memory Police by Yōko Ogawa, reviewed by Ahana Bhattacharjee, and published in The Antonym:
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