Towards Ion Pop Street
On the recently-paved street
Passes the lyrics reading machine.
On the right, a birth rises
With a freshly cut hay smell.
The first whine is the frozen wound
In the detritus of memory.
Yes, the sun is a simple blind stone,
warm Macadam under the fresh skin
Of that asphalt,
Which makes the air
Something almost tangible.
Under the unmeasured steps,
Under the tire cry
a lullaby wanders
with a lament refrain
And in all it flows satisfied
the solution of an apocalypse
Still negotiable.
That’s right, my parents did not know
And this ignorance of theirs
Was keeping me away from the shrub.
The stones on the road
Got, through a simple play,
Scattered in cemeteries
Like a kind of vertebra
that refuses the downhill.
Just that
I do not even know what brake
Crushes my bones
And turns them
Into clouds.
We are waiting
for the rain to lick
The dirt out of the way
And then to learn the
Cleanness of walking on another street.
Whoever wanted to try us,
Giving us life?
I.
With my street.
Both.
Eventually,
I was alone
That may be because
My loneliness
Did not fit
With the loneliness of anybody.
In sockets,
The stone begets
Nearly affordable eternities,
The baby moves
ossicles
Under the barely blooming crosses.
It’s a street to the river
And instead of a bridge,
Across,
A twilight …
English Translation by Zorin Diaconescu