When I’ll take you same day
couple of days in blue-park?
asking in vagggon a reader
– iluminated pages hide the railway engine
letters are moving sleep
from one play to another...
living over viaducts, hills, seconds
one leaf is leaning on the window
it is spring, whispered somebody.
When I’ll take you someday
couple of days in blue-park?
Night I catching sight the extend long hair as a trawl
in the short-sightedness beam of a moon
advasing to the centre
inside the very old cup.
In blue-park you will see
people are wearing images, sounds and flowers
their jewellers are organ’s breath.
Tell me
when I’ll take you
in blue-park?
in blue-park?
in blue-park?


He is the mystery who waked up suddenly
the wager of poetry with music
the barefooted lover of rain
the guitar of honey spheres
the selfslaughter in ecstasy.

I took my brain and I put it on the table
you who are watching and hearing
what do you know about tomorrow?
You who are interested in lectures, music, impretions,
and realize wishes untill the end
what can you say about tomorrow?
You who are loving my shadowing hair
and who sometimes wallowing in drinks
what can you say about tomorrow?
I put my brain in his place
and remaining dumb.
I took my heart and I put it on the table
you who are agitating as a rain
and jumping sometimes to break my chest
what you can tell me
about tomorrow?
Starting prayers.


For a moment
I shall take rest
in a Central Park
under the most brightnessly sign
you now witch of them
in that apeear uperwomen and Superman
exhausted in love
keeping the centuries to flow
from eyes to feets.
Oh, how I shall relax my limbs
relying my head on statue’s foot
from the Central Park
– freash cleaned – otherwise
do you now
that witch waves hers hair in the wind
and when it is raining
open suddenly umbella from her pocket.
For a moment
I shall forget to breathe
under cupola of glass
        from metropolis.


What are you drawing
above the bed
probably it is your demon
any spirit from the bottle with raft cork
on the flying carpet
– lovely forms it has
    idol head
what are you drawing
above the sandy bed
probably it is an angel
with closed eyes
smiling as Budha
you are not smiling
only catching sight
when wake up from dream
the arm of panted image
affectionate extented
and thinking that you are feeling
the wave of warm sea
under your nude
on the puddle
inside your soul.

(Traduceri de Mihai COZMA)