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

With hand on the heart, with both hands on the heart,
within the short respite swallowing the pain, you blubber
a song. you look around and shiver. can’t see a thing.
things once supporting the open word have lost their steadiness,
words willing to explore the possible
are clogged up by signs. is not as if it would disperse
farther than a weak light, but a man
who tided up the place ravished by passions
is shifting his focus towards something unrevealed to you,
although you understand what’s going on. now I can tell you
that I did not love you. No, I loved you! but not enough for
the angel to cut the red scarf, the one I tied up my senses with.
they were not free, they could not release from the mouth
the knife used to spread colours on canvas
they didn’t know that sins are stricken by a sublime hate rage,
commenced by the caring of a Being unknown to you,
although your moves are pulling a breath out of its surroundings
towards the spot touched by illness. you must protect me
from afar, you must beg the ones that could still lift a hand
to lower it gently towards the heart.


(poem published in the volume "Sentic", Vinea Publishing House, Bucharest, 2009, p. 11. English translation: Corina Gina Papouis)