luciabordeianu

I enjoy spending some time

in second hand boutiques,

where I go between rows

filled with things that once

some strangers owned.

Red and Chinese cups for coffee or tea,

silver candlesticks and

hand made wooden boxes,

in which I wonder what they hid.

Carnaval costumes, odd hats,

gala dresses and rain boots,

vynils of unknown old bands,

pianos, unfunctional guitars, violins…

I pass between and touch

with my short fingers

pieces of some other lived lives.

Headphones flood my ears with

old jazz and old blues

untill I am no longer here…

I could bet this black dress never embraced

a being body.

I could bet these black sequins never shined

in a lover’s wide opened eyes,

and,

since I found it,

I can’t stop thinking of how this black beauty

will shine one night for you.

I bet a champion horses race

that it waited for me,

lost on this cold hanger,

for four decades.

Now is hanged in my own room

for how long is left.

Aici este de parcă am părăsit, în sfârșit,

o veche planetă.

Nici nu îmi mai aduc aminte când.

Probabil demult,

dacă s-au șters atâtea din mine.

Din minte au mai rămas doar unele urme.

Nu îmi pasă de câte s-au mai risipit

pe parcurs.

Aici, sus, nu am nevoie de cumul.

Atât cât suntem, e perfect sau mai mult

ca perfectul.

Aici, unde au pus lacul,

de pe buza abruptă de mal,

se văd toate rachetele

desenând v-uri nesfârșite pe cer!

Și dacă ar fi să pice la picioare,

precum navele eșuate în bancuri de nisip,

așa, lăsate într-o parte?

De obicei pe cea dreaptă.

Sau ca algele și meduzele moarte în mare?

Aici, dacă întind mâna stângă,

soarele îmi atinge degetele.

În apus,

se apropie din ce in ce mai mult de noi doi

și de bancă.

Aici aș rămâne și m-aș opri

din toate călătoriile.

Aici, unde ești tu.

I have to tell you…

no lyrics made me cry

except rap music.

no poet.

and when this happened, was odd, because

I used to cry so rarely, that I even thought

I had a soul anomally.

I searched my life to find my heart.

in anatomy classes they teached us

where god put it,

but I questioned that guy’s poor work.

(we all can do mistakes from time to time,

is true,

perfect ones too.)

so, in my case and for some more,

I was sure he forgot to fix it

or turn it on.

I lived for decades at North Pole,

preserving myself to stay alive in such cold.

I was holding myself in my arms,

to keep body warm.

last autumn, when tears

started coming into my eyes,

I remembered they were talking a lot

about allergies,

on televisions and online.

That’s it!

was not.

were all those rap rythms you shared

and this is how I opened my arms,

daring to face my North Pole.

was you, with your rap sounds,

not the world climate crisis.

icebergs are melting and sun

burns us closer.

waters grew higher and ate some islands,

humans keep searching secondary planets

to destroy.

on streets or media,

they scream Apocalypse! Apocalypse!

I can’t stop these salty drops

to fall.

such happyness for finding my heart

inside, somewhere, here.

this means there is no error from god’s side.

the guy just played around,

rapping, puzzleing,

maybe bored up there, in his black sky.

I will never win this Nobel prize,

I told my friend,

while we were eating vanilla icecream

on a dry bench from Platan tree’s Alley.

it wasn’t more than 13 Celsius degrees

in the atmosphere and

my fingers looked dead,

colder than a glacier.

I don’t understand what happened with the World,

But you see?

They don’t know how to make it anymore!

When we were kids, the taste was great!

Now they all taste the same and something…

I was searching the word.

Is missing? he said.

Yeah! Missing….

and for some good minutes,

maybe seven,

we remained silent under those trees,

licking our desserts, with numb tongues.

when we started to talk again,

the shape of words became abrupt,

without control,

as when you’re drunk.

so we begun to laugh.

I mean… I was laughing, he was smiling.

he was smiling because I was laughing,

I think.

Why you said that?

What?

That you will never win the Nobel prize?

I wondered who owns the Earth,

people or books?

maybe people.

maybe not.

not yet.

The prize is for the one who likes competition,

even when he is not aware of it.

Might be so deep buried inside,

that is undetectable.

Some notice it only on stage, when they hear

the applauds.

However I believe there is a minority…

Is overused this word, minority,

don’t you think?

but I didn’t wait for his answer

and I continued

… there is a minority which gains by chance

or badluck.

Isn’t it ironic to be the winner

when you hate it so much that you can

feel it in your bones?

Especially in autumn, when your bones

start an anti-weather revolution.

we walked from the alley through

the lighted crossroad.

waited there a short time for

the green colour.

an ambulance droved fast

with blue alarms on.

a black car was spreading around

commercial European hip hop

from an unidentified Central-East country.

If I would be that Nobel guy,

I would give you my prize!

But I’m not and this is ok,

‘cause you’re part of a minority

that evoids the crowds.

and we passed together on the other side.

Since I am gone,

last night, for the first time,

I dreamed about homeland.

I woke up with this warm feeling

of hanging out with lot of people

I well knew but,

in fact, they all were strangers faces,

without names.

at some point, we stood few,

up high in a twenty floor glass

and iron building.

no idea about what we were looking for.

but I remember we wanted to escape,

run outside, into the wide space

covered with green grass and poplars

with leaves as fish scales.

only that, out there, started the rain.

so we waited it stops.

these guys were chating around me,

laughing with loud happy voices.

in my ear, sounded far away,

as I would have listen a black and white movie,

from a distant, separated room.

I was absent

because the rain, comming from those skies,

was falling down infront of my eyes,

forming fluid spirals through the air,

with diametres between 15 and 25

centimetres.

the water drops were clear and small.

they seemed suspended

into a no gravity field.

they seemed pure and inofensive.

but the spirals they formed, were having such a force,

that could have killed you just in a second,

if you would have been caught in a wrong place,

at the wrong moment.

I was in a right place at the wrong moment.

I felt I belong to something

that I finaly have found.

phone alarm brought me back here.

I entered my kitchen and made coffee,

one sugar spoon,

some dust of salt.

3 more left and tho this body pain

won’t stop soon,

I still smoke.

the world is always sick
because of something.

and we should be used with it

until now.

but we are not.

and seems

always a breaking news

that we shout out loud to announce

our specie’s possible end.

this time I am not sure if

I have same

healthy problem like world has,

but I feel as I usualy do, when I’m ill:

a beast in a cage

with bleeding wounds on its skin.

last fever episode made me wet.

I felt asleep and I dreamed

hungry dragons with seven heads,

dark untouchable woods,

snakes on the ground and crows,

maybe because of all those

fairy childhood tales

which follow me, even I am so

fucking old!

I am on drugs, the legal ones

they sell to us.

I hate them all and I prefer

to smoke,

to feed the beast

and to ignore 99%.

1% I kept only for myself.

…

2 more left.

I lay my head back

to reach your chest and feel yours

breaths and beats,

in a slow balance

of bodies and minds.

our Marley pickup plays

old Romanian songs

of voices who died long ago.

I know you smile when I sing

these Aurelian Andreescu’s lyrics

you are my spring

my light…

and you pass the joint with a kiss

lost through my hair.

the air from village’s harbour

is filled with empty shels,

and the old boats

also dance.

șterge praful de pe foile scrise

de mână!

îmi plac literele ascuțite

cum scrijelesc gânduri străine

pe tâmple și

urmele de cerneală din palme

sunt hărți prin care ajung

la țărm și

mă sparg val.

vreau să privesc cel mai adânc!

lasă-mă dincolo de marianele tale!

m-am scufundat de-atâtea ori

încât cu apa am ajuns

să mă confund și

pe uscat

pasul mi-e greu și

vreau să sar de pe stânci

în centrul pământului!

mă întind prelung după el…

îl visez…

îl caut prin somn.

îl simt când răsare.

chiar înainte să mă deschid,

îl simt colorând întunericul

când ne strânge pe amândoi.

am trupul scut de ace

și brațe ascuțite de vânt

și plete ude de rouă,

pe care doar el le poate desface.

sunt floarea soarelui!

privirea lui nu mă arde,

mă învie,

mă cuprinde de jur-împrejur

și mă înalță spre cer,

să pot să-l ajung.

sa-l ating, mă întind împlinită spre el

și-l petrec cu privirea prin lume,

până apunem.

Întinși la mese metalice,

în umbra înaltelor vechi

ziduri,

minți protejate sub pălării

maro, negre sau gri,

porniți partide de jocuri de noroc cu timpul:

șah, dame, poker și darts.

uneori, fără regrete, trișați.

Cu mâinile prin bărbi,

frunțile între degetele groase, răsfirate,

surâsuri ce strâng, între buze uscate,

pipe, trabucuri, țigări,

vouă vă plac leii, scorpionii…

Îi căutați jos, în stradă,

măsurați trecătorii,

bărbat, femeie, copil.

Îi recreați, dintr-o privire,

în personaj principal.

Uneori gustați cafele, în dimineți,

beri belgiene

și vinuri roșii franceze

pentru apăsătoarele continue nopți.

Voi iubiți leii, scorpionii!

sufletele lor, armele,

lacrimile ascunse.