dismembered bird

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

in vain

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

please

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

all dressed

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