(re)capitulare~Ω

în 2009

e doar pentru mine& memoria mea selectivă:)

poate o să mă ocolească uitarea ori poate o să uit programat azi un ou mîine toți boii care trăgeau la un car ce-și făcea viața liniștit rozător la un

lemn dulce/ acrișor

poate mă voi întoarce undeva nemișcîndu-mă-n cutia de proiectat filme a îngerului ăluia cu aura afumată, nechitiană veșnic, ori, cine poate ști

acrită corespunzător voi tăcea dulce forma(o)lizată:)

Micha Gordin, te salut! nici/o/dată

Crowd #20, 1989.

The tune of prayer unknown to me
The sound of words unknown to me
The pass of thoughts unknown to me
The touch of hand unknown to me
The wave of joy unknown to me
The smell of earth unknown to me
The shape of cloud unknown to me
The trail of steps unknown to me
The speed of time unknown to me
The length of trust unknown to me
The scent of fear unknown to me
The depth of shout unknown to me
The pain of loss unknown to me
The strength of will unknown to me.

Crowd #29, 1990.

Look around. The wall is sound.
Look inside. The light is blind.
Look below. The floor is rock.
Look ahead. The trigger cocked.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Crowd #28, 1990.

To sweep the memories away
To scrape the soiled steps of being
To shelter spirit from the past
To blend the ashes with the dust.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Crowd #26, 1990.

To live the life
To walk the mist
To drink the rain
To fly the sky
To see the pass
To melt the pain
To learn from scars
To plant the seed
To live the life

 

 

 

 

 

Crowd #31, 1991.

Close your hands, hold me inside.
Close your soul, set pain aside.
Close your thoughts, the tong is numb.
Close your heart to sense the flesh.
Close your eyes in light of night.
Fall asleep and never die wrapped in shroud of lullaby.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Crowd #23, 1990.

In soundless solitude of wait
Observing changing guards of light
Nocturnal bird to touch the string
In magic call to wake the night.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Crowd #35, 1991.

Step inside. I am alone.
Step inside. My place is warm.
Step inside. The night is young.
Step inside. We’ll play a game.
Step inside. I’ll touch your soul.
Step inside. The moon is full.
Step inside. In maze of thoughts.
Step inside. We’ll lock the door.
Step inside of spiders net.
Step inside. Don’t be afraid.

 

 

 

Crowd #34, 1991.

The raging beast of passing storm
That cruel wakener of soul
With melting gusts of blindfold fury
Against the shield of hardened will.

Like moans emerged from distant past
Comes fear inscribed on crevices of pain
And notion that the storm will pass
Reflected in a lonely tear.

Crowd #36, 1991.

Memories,
Concealed in pillars of the past
Like bridge between the distant thoughts
Like silent dance of warmth and sadness
In lonely journey of the soul