Round years (poem by Florin Caragiu, English translation: Corina Gina Papouis)

a little trot tears apart the round years and the nettle bushes,
it gathers us within the resonance box of an image.

very soon we shall all have the same age.
hurriedly our houses shall become small, as small as to fit in the valid intersection
of interiors rearranged within the shape of freedom
rubbing words between them, to ignite
the raw love lost within ourselves.
nothing compares to the trust offered by a face
that’s been washing your blood in many waters – an evening and a morning

you watch food coming out of inertia shining
in your hungry mouth, while you throw yourself to the ground
wiping the prints with your borrowed breast.

we have as much time on our hands as to forget each other,
when sun is rolling on the burning sound caught at the end of Adam’s apples
without the fear of an unattainable happiness epidemic.
as long as your sleep holds those dolphins up in the air, you may dress your soul
with the kissed-by-suffering side, the need to breath
teaches me not to loose you in the crowd.

your name is a hidden eye inside of me, whenever
I find myself thrown away to the beasts by a gentle light


(poem published in the volume "Sentic", Vinea Publishing House, Bucharest, 2009, p. 10. English translation: Corina Gina Papouis)