there’s far too little similarity
between things and (non)virtual reality,
not even of the music of the soul !
the tone plays there the main role,
the barrenness of images that increment
the age of clumsiness in the domain
of crossroads of all sort
Perhaps it’s the left‑handed born
who might give you support !
don’t try to understand this letter
the lava flows without Heaven’s permission
or the thesaurus of the mind, as you would say
in the language you want to dream of me !
the code of the full moon, today
is hiding from me, it’s running away
in spite of my palm’s displaying the line
of the chiromancy of failure, the water sign !
Though, it’s my guide, and educating me, the Moon,
and throwing me into your virtual arms
by all the power of the incandescent night
while understanding none of these mysterious charms !
but you are versed with interpreting my images now,
a thunderbolt’s rendition you’d avow
the kindness in the eye and word is reading
you know the universal tongue of feeding
a baby on a teenage mother’s breast,
fragile, yet certain of her mission quest !
beyond the ocean between our shoulders
beyond unscrambling names of the Earth boulders
do consider me… right now, not later !
you do not know The Lady’s code translator :
the stones are leading me to the remembrance sheet
Solomon’s Columns have a guarding seat
as posts around my former maiden bed
just like a real goddess
(was roaming then on Jijia’s shores, along the railroad line
leaping from stone to stone, loving and being loved
proper, at dawn)
as in the photo shawn
when I was just eighteen,
only a shadow of the tree can truly render
my portrait, same as that of a Gioconda
(a debut stance
described by my robe’s folds, by how I hold my hands)
if living in the past
you might regain your youth, there is a chance,
the chance to meet with the ideal you’ve long lost
the chance of taking your chosen man’s arm
letting him lead you to the night of flamed kiss charm
the kiss ignited by the bluish stars,
and by the flames of that still new abyss of ours
unknown so far, unless by premonition,
as if the morning dew is first to taste, upon its apparition,
before the tooling of the willing winging wipes it out !?
and you ? what is your choice about ?
your parents’ death at the world’s other end
for having failed to follow you to the Wonders’ Continent ?
dithering dreams within not‑understood vitrails ?
Fly between continents… in‑between void and light set up your sails !
The inspiration’s a conglomerate of divine mould
which now so close to me it is unfold
in this Jerusalem that is with such ardour longed for !
then come back here, where your roots await in store !
A now dismembered bird is hurling in a wild descent
t’wards the green earth of petrified and fertile a soil blend.
The bird’s aware of its end.
Published in the Review “Literary Romania” no. 22, 11 June 2002
from the leaflet “Bitter Cherries”, Munchen 2001
Cami din Australia