The Archer

He separates my  struggle into seasons.

At break of day
he has left me daylight
in a cup
with undecipherable dregs.
In the light roundness
of the eye ball,
 the cercle of the horizon

so that I may see its wholeness on the vault,
and look for him...

I run after him to catch him
but the distance between us
is the same...

One day I have found a spark
in the cup.


Through the window pane

Beyond the window,
the old tree
still flutters several leaves on a branch.
We have got closer to it
with our  hands,
with its branches
face to face
so that we may get warm through the glass...
but benumbed,
are our branches,
our hands

We have prayed together
so that one leaf
may be left on it.


Scribe on bended knees 

Horizons in ice canonicals
bluish traces on the snow.
The outskirts─the robinas.
In the branches of thorns the dusk
comes into being─an act:
dark cuneiforms.

I know the language of Summer.
on bended knees I decipher the message
black on white:
„ The flower of the snow is about me
in the triangle of shadow
hidden in the being.”


Through the whirls,
a bright halt: the cardiologist
interpreted my electro-cardiogram according to its colours
’deviations of the S-T trace
in the red area
of maximum intensity”;
a precious sign for the diagnosis:
„alien body kept in secret
in the left ventricle.”

Complete curriculum

The horizon is rich
in my days.
For the dusk I gather up the clear-obscure
 in a knapsack.
I choose the first snow from among the shades of grey,
the serene
from sadness.
I do not run into loves
I only fall down into their hidden sharp blade.
I hear the groan of the stone
when it falls down and hits another stone.
Between an east stone and a west stone,
lies the round table.
Still hungry after dinner
time rises up
and clings to my neck,
gnaws one of my vertebra bones
and bites at my stature…

I look for healing recipes
in my old manuscript
„The Etiopathogeny of loneliness and completion”
I find the autobiography;

it is written that my origin is healthy. 

Traduceri de Olimpia IACOB