Magdalena Dorina SUCIU       

The night falls in drops from the anphora

These trees
are white
as after a love night.
Their rustle of angel
with paper wings
reaches the stars.

The song still keeps on fermenting
in the nest of grass
harboured in the lap of a church
only the core of the night knows, maybe,
the amphora
where the fire is on the watch.

From the corner of sky sloping down
two spotted horses
gracefully kiss
the enticing breasts of the endless plain.

To the one I am waiting  for

You have not come to me, yet,
and my heart, however,
dances on tiptoe
as if it were caught
in a glass cell.

Even if I fail to know your face,
I enjoy adorning it
with the tapestry of that meadow
On which
Only the gods may walk.

With a thirsty kiss
you stop my drops of blood, every time
 the thorns of the rose
pierce my lips
even if you
still appear in an invisible womb.

Soul in a ring


Don’t trouble the flock of stags
that rules over me,
follow the path foreseen by the wind
and tear the only leaf
written with hieroglyphs¾
my ripe soul
will fall down to your feet.

The wells bubble
Under the linen of  the lawn
That burns the air of the day;
My palm
Is a thirsty cloud
That digests your shoulders.

Between you and  I
there is one more Sunday left
that gathers in a nest
the kisses of the bride and bridegroom, not wedded, yet.

Bird auction

The eye lays pearls
under the wing charmed away by magic words
that engrafts the lightning.
Apple-trees grow
on the palate of my mouth
when I beseech the morning
to natch a dream
on my ankles.
We both will climb the mountain
to witness
the greatest bird auction.

The shadow of the seeking hand

You have tattooed my shoulders
with several illegible signs
and I cannot embrace the three any more
because its leaves
hesitate any touch;

you have tattooed every finger
with a condor feather
dipped into the red ink
of that sea where
the twilight has smoothed down its brow;

while I
have missed you,
trying to take the burning ring away
from the grass. 

When love burns

I am the same quiet cage
where you break bird hearts
so that you may come to me,
without knowing that the blood of grass
begins hurting badly under the hoofs.

I know that each wish concerning you
cuts out a cross in my body,
but each time
I am bound to free myself from the snare
only if I let myself smeared
with the honey beneath the angel’s nails
that pushes the cart full of rains.

I wish my lips
could auction the well
at whose bottom the wedding ring gleams
and wants to be  chains
for a blind heart.
Traduceri de Olimpia IACOB