luciabordeianu

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.

am țâșnit afară

cu câteva ore înainte să plouă din nou.

clădiri ciocolate, bomboane,

ziduri țuguiate spre cer,

ne înghesuie laolaltă.

mulțimile curg în fluviu:

tramvaie, câini, biciclete, oameni,

auto electrice, hibride sau nu.

Anvers, tu me souviens de ma Danube!

et le mec sur cette terrasse,

avec ses yeux perdues et les cheveux

contre le vent,

me rappelle de moi.

et l’un qui pedale en vitesse sur la rue,

me fait penser a toi.

a toi…

și câinele bătrânei, în lesă,

pisica, cum doarme încolăcită în geam,

copilul ce plânge învartindu-se pe lângă statuia unui orfan,

ferestrele mici cu obloane din lemn,

precum casa aceea la care visăm,

bodega cu chelner în șorț, imigrant,

shopuri de brand cu discount și reclame,

muzeele, catedrala, cetatea,

arta, mâncarea stradală,

și fata cu sânii săltând de nebuni pe sub bluză,

mă ating, în trafic!

sapă în mine rețele de autostrăzi.

I just became friend with a Polish boy.

And how this hapened?

Well, I supose because he also felt

so alone

between the other Polish boys…

And maybe we both knew

how uneasy is to play a character’s role

in a such wide colorfull world.

Like a painter who stares,

for a suspended moment,

wondering himself what colour to use

and sometimes highligther paints are chosed

just to atract or impress

the viewers views…

But we found out that we have long scars

on our skins,

after all seasons through we changed

several times from black to white

and reverse.

He told me you know, these white lines

reveal we are tigers!

So until the end of our programm

we showed around

our white sharped teeth,

disquised in smiles,

we roared pulling the hard metals

with bare hands,

coordinating our movements

in a tribal dance with the steel

and machines.

a girl becomes true

warrior

the moment she can ride her

manual transmission car

on A50 highway

and paint eyelashes

in rearview mirror

using black mascara.

she wears

long hair braided tightly in two tails,

red lasting lipstick

as warning sign,

old scars in her heart,

new ones on her cold

skin.

a girl becomes true

warrior

when

she can listen all your words,

swords breaking through

her flesh and bones,

when

she can fly

or dance

or jump

or walk

under world’s cruel view,

where she only fights

to survive

for this species.

She listens that Ukrainian rock band on stage,

but, behind her closed eyes,

a flamingo dancer, in red dress,

spins and beats the ground.

She has meeting with management,

but, outside offices windows, the sky is so blue!

a bird spreads its wings

and leaves the roof.

She crosses the fresh green yard

with laptop in her hand,

but she is chewing two mint gums

and tongue makes balloones,

while rap of Tupac invades her ears.

She sees you riding the bycicle,

cuting the cold air of an ordinary morning,

with your look of a mad warrior

at the end of the battlefield.

She smokes and drinks her coffee,

checking in mind the working day’s

to do list.

a smile rises in a corner of her lips,

‘cause she knows only to ride horses,

not bycicles.

She goes by the forest right before sunrise.

trees open the path and she feels with her legs

the warmth of black animal.

She opens the computer and logs

into the system

using an user

and a password.

was after that black year.

2015.

back then, I experienced a complicated relationship with Death.

after knowing her, everything changes.

colours and shapes,

the invisible becomes visible,

earth is just a small ball in the pocket

of your old second hand jeans.

after you learn how to dance with death,

steps, rythm,

what else could stone you anymore?

so I was sure THAT WAS THE END.

I’ve noticed that after all kind of endings I passed through,

peoples do miracles inside me.

I believed was not the case anymore.

„girl, stop relying on patterns!”,

I said to myself.

BUT, in 2016, the truth is that I fucked Death!

I fucked everybody!

my job, my friends, my terrestrial ambitions,

my finances, my social status,

my fears, my limits.

you all went crazy looking at me, ah?

I was that little brownian particle

in your perfect system, n’est pas?

yeah!

was great!

then I met Charles,

downtown, in the medieval city.

his face was old, but he seemed so fresh!

he looked at me with that hidden smile

and said: „women!”

now we are living in same house,

sharing same room, for which

he doesn’t spend any money

to pay rent.

this son of a bitch!