On the shore of a life stripped from the body of a god
We cuddle in a tree made of the dusty newspapers
Wine flowing through the delicate veins...a soul lees, a clot of memory
Squeeze me in your arms, as the Carpathians squeeze the Danube river at Cazane!Kiss me!
I feel like we were born here of mute gods’ souls paired by a dream
And from the water of heavy happiness, from the clean rain of being. I want to scream:
“Let’s have a holy bath in Ganges !”
Ode to the closed century ... ode to the sick thought...ode to the lost road
What embodies the dream and his fleshy convoy?
The cold river of Valhala, of Olympus, of Bethlehem?
In this wretched life you only love once...the rest is a bet
On what side bends the fate on the shore of death? The kiss, or the memento?
And a certain soul presses on my core...why don’t I see you through the water?
Should I let myself fall in arms which anyway would not catch me?