Carolina ILICA



I. Kiss in the Palm
Is it a sin if I can imagine
Though I have never been, that I could be your lover?

Not just any of them, all in a hurry
To melt under you like the last snow,

But one who can wait and weep...
Placing just a kiss, a nail, in your left hand

In which memory beats with a sledge hammer.
Till it pierces your flesh, like Jesus Christ’s.

II. Race
My mouth is just
A red rose opening
Under the fiery breath of your lips.

Then how should I dare
Race you anywere?!

What if you are earth,
Me water?
What if you are strong,
Me weak?
What if you are younger,
Me wiser?

What if you caress me as I can never
Caress you: inside?

We have only one weapon in common:
Who will sing best.

I. Evening Plane
The silver dragon fly trembles in the car again,
The evening plane.
A smoke, a dense silence float
Behind, over the whole town.

At one time I awaited the Evening-Plane...

The museum of memories keeps
Details unhealed ever since:
A flower crushed by a step. A bee.

A lost child. Dead phones
In the open post office, so alien.

At one time I ran towards Love
In new sandals made of impatience.

Now I feel ashamed:
I am like an old woman who can hardly
Remember herself.

II. In Childhood
The handcuffs of his hands on my ankles
I can still feel;

Although I am losing the time
When a boy
Strongly grabbed
My small palms –
Two golden epaulets –
Pressed them on my shoulders and shouted:
– I am
The master of the world!

I. The Short Poem of My Long Life
I do not have the gift of being rich.
Even less that of being happy.
And yet once upon a time
My heart filled up:

Was it love or poetry?
It’s all the same! I might as well die.
If I am still alive, it’s only to describe
The longing for that longing mood.

II. Like a Peasant
I sowed basil one sacred Friday noon.
Like a peasant.
I watered it with my mouth.
Thinking of God and Love,

As if they were one!

Here it flowers! Here I am
Basil in my breast!
Like a peasant.
Wanted and willing.

Be the first to smell me, my God!

(Traducere de Lidia VIANU)