luciabordeianu

îmi puneam în căști Sișu și Killa.

mâna dreaptă

îmi scrijelea cu unghiile până la sânge,

în minte.

mesaj:

ia pixu‘ ăsta, umple fila!

ia gândul ăsta viu, fă-l să se nască

în cuvinte

și scuipa-le-n lume!

dacă mă privesc, numai semne!

rănile pe care ți le faci singur

lasă cele mai adânci urme.

fiindcă, știi…

e în mine un întreg necuprins

univers,

care stă să se transforme

din moment în moment,

prin bing bang,-uri consecutive, în versuri.

nu am aflat încă, însă simt sensul.

o cale.

o contemplu.

iar undeva, acolo, e-un templu,

în care voi păși, din nou,

într-o zi.

…

nu sunt sigură că îți aduci aminte,

când ne-am văzut la tine acasă

și-ai dat o cafea presărată cu un praf

de zahăr, unul de sare,

m-ai întrebat ce-am mai făcut,

am mai scris?

ți-am zis scurt nu.

vezi tu, cumva am evitat să mă expun.

că, in imagiunarium,

pictez.

imagini fluviu,

legate în capitole discontinue

din diferite romane urban – planetare,

interstelare,

atemporal fixate.

dar…

le blochez sub semnul acelei întrebări

„a fi sau a nu fi?”,

până într-o zi.

astăzi mi-ai vorbit despre toți copacii

care nu mai sunt

pe Insulă.

dar oare, mă întreb,

n-or trăi ei în continuare,

pe sub pământ?

feriți de privirile noastre,

nu și-or întinde rădăcinile,

spre toate zările?

aș vrea să te mai întreb, însă

îmi place mai mult să te ascult și las

agățate întrebările în gând și

scrisul meu strâmb pe prima filă

din carte.

nu vrem să ne sinucidem,

doar să ne desprindem dintre restul.

cineva să proiecteze capsule!

cineva să ne lanseze în spațiu!

din planul acesta terestru,

dezlegați de gravitație,

eclozând dintr-un timp definit,

cuprindem în noi infinit infinitul.

we walked close

by the white houses of rich people,

with wide windows watching us.

sad windows missing the deep seas,

just waiting their masters to return

in these modern mansions and castles.

we walked close,

passing on silent, lonely alley,

no soul,

no life from inside.

White houses in towns are not our type…

in our tell,

savage nature is gazing at us through

two walls of glass.

here, we are unarmed.

under an angular wooden roof,

which points to

new stars on skyes,

wet skins dive into water.

Imagine!

Wild animals shaking the fur,

chasing our slow movement.

here we are, stoned…

this vintage bath become an ocean,

we become rocks, shaped by its waves.

Do you think we’ll turn into sand one day,

when time will come?

Locația doi zero unu zero doi.

Ne-am călit demult nu ne mai sclăvimmmm!

Doi, patru, șase, șapte, opt, nouă, zece.

Zece.

Biciul pe spate e putred de mult.

Zece.

Zece.

Zece.

Unu, doi, trei, patru, cinci.

Unu, doi, trei, patru, cinci, șase, șapte, opt.

Opt ori cinci:

patruzeci.

Patruzeci ori zece:

patru sute.

Sclavii din anii două mii poartă bumbacu‘,

nu-l mai culeg…

Patru sute.

În sistem: trei sute șaptezeci și cinci.

De unde diferența?

În mișcările de stoc, poate.

Sau s-a încurcat cu doi zero doi zero trei.

Hmmm.

Maybe.

Mă cheamă-o voce babe!

Mmm mmm

Și nu vreau să te fac.

Locația doi zero unu zero nouă

move tooo…

doi zero doi zero doi.

E fast one, medium, heavy.

f/m/h.

Diametru optzeci si opt virgulă nouă.

PN șaișpe.

Stoc unșpe-n sap.

Două, patru, șase, șapte, opt…

Două, trei, patru, șase, opt, nouă.

De când sunt floare ofilită, baby,

Mă ofilesc si frunzele sunt otrăvite.

Șaptesprezece.

Inventar: plus șase.

Okey.

Cred că sunt dependent de ea,

Ca și cum ar fi marfa mea…

nanana nana na.

Mda.

Opt treizeci și opt.

Coffee time!

Vorba lui Sam: so! let’s go and smoke something!

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.