POEM TO THE HEARTH (II)

The hearth was grinning
In the dark, behind the shadows,
Watching me shiver in a corner of the night,
Wishing I could somehow escape
Remembrance and remorse.

And then the fire started burning
In streams of blood
And flames of purple,
Making the gold frames shine
On the pale, smiling walls.

A torch of bliss was burning
Inside a mirror of tears,
Reflecting its beautiful fantasies
On the illusory stage of dreams,

While my frozen hands
Had regained their strength
And my closed eyes
Had found a reason to open,
To see and feel the blessed warmth
Coming from the hearth.

As I stood up,
Watching the poor blue ashes
That were so faintly floating in the flames,
The fire went out
Like an eclipsed fantasy.

I could hear the voice of death
Penetrating the hearth and its downcast ashes,
Telling me that the dusk and its games
And lights and shadows were actually

The deserted hearth
Or so many empty hearts
That light up and burn with ardour,
But always die so unexpectedly!


Copyrighted © Sorana Salomeia, Iasi, Romania