the forsaking

.

 Image

spend the hill … a procession,  slipping through soft clay

and wind that is round

it’s heading slowly to seas the salt into the depths of amnesia

and forgiveness

this wedding without godparents has  the guests,  bizarre statues

just the gaze remained hard,  to break through beyond the horizon rough

procession gathered hastily ..  are poor my memories, hostile,  wastage of

bitterness, when she seemed abundance in the my youth, with his yoke lofty

Now, in wandering continuously going, satiated of bitter in cold gourd, painted inside

only with lime

the shadow of this sad exodus,  that murmured requiem… is my body

emptied of meaning, by the wants and every passion, former a roar yesterday

– just clay,  is something concrete into this shriveled picture

the procession, even would take a upwards,  also in the clay would walk again

because as here and is in the heaven

and then,  what would more hope … what to hope longer?

Image

trascorre la collina … processione scivolando tra fango morbido

e vento tondo 

si sta dirigendo lentamente verso i mari di sale, nelle profondità d’amnesia

e di perdono

questo matrimonio senza padrini ha come invitati delle statue bizzarre

soltanto lo sguardo è rimasto per sfondare oltre…il ruvido orizzonte …

la processione radunata in fretta, sono i miei poveri ricordi, ostili, spreco

dell’amarezza, quando sembrava abbondanza alla gioventù, con il suo grandioso giogo

Ora, girovagando, continua ad andare, stanchi d’amaro dal teschio freddo dentro dipinto

solo di calce

l’ombra di questo triste esodo che mormora il requiem… è il mio corpo

svuotata di significato, desideri e ogni passione, un fragore ieri

– soltanto argilla è qualcosa di concreto in questo quadro avvizzito

la processione anche se andasse al in su,  camminerebbe nell’argilla di nuovo

perché è come qui… anche nel cielo

e allora che cosa aspetterebbe  … a che potrò sperare io? …

Image

petrece dealul… alaiul,  lunecând prin clisa moale

şi prin vânt rotund

se-ndreaptă lent spre mări de sare în adâncuri de amnezie

şi iertare

această nuntă fără naşi are statui bizare drept nuntaşi

căci doar privirea a rămas mai tare să străpungă dincolo de aspra zare…

alaiul adunat în pripă sunt biete amintiri ostile, risipă

amarului, pe vremea când părea belşug tinereţii, punând măreţu-i jug

acum, în pripegie se tot duc, sătule de amar în tigva rece spoită dinăuntru

doar cu var

umbra acestui trist exod ce murmură ca la prohod e trupul meu

golit de sens, de vreri şi orice patimă, un vuiet ieri,

– doar clisa, huma, e ceva concret acestui scorojit tablou

şi chiar în sus de ar porni alaiul tot în humă va păşi din nou

fiindcă-i precum aici şi-n cer 

şi-atunci la ce-ar spera… la ce să sper?!…

 

11 thoughts on “the forsaking

  1. This is beautiful. The line: “the shadow of this sad exodus, that murmured requiem… is my body / emptied of meaning” really struck me as particularly well-written and rhythmic. Thanks for sharing.

    Like

  2. ¸. • ♥ •. ¸ ¸. • ♥ •. ¸ ¸. • ♥ •. ¸ ¸. • ♥ •. ¸. • ♥ •. ¸ ¸. • ♥ •. ¸ ¸.
    Nessuna distanza e niente nel
    creato potrà separarci dall’amore di Dio.
    Perché tu possa sentire la Sua
    onnipotente presenza in ogni momento della
    tua vita Buona Pasqua con forte abbraccio😉

    ❀ Da Carmela ❀

    ,•’“’•,•’“’•,……………..…,•’“’•,•’“’•,
    ’•,`’•,*,•’`,•’…………….. ’•,`’•,*,•’`,•’
    …`’•,,•’` …….KISS………`’•,,•’`
    ¸. • ♥ •. ¸ ¸. • ♥ •. ¸ ¸. • ♥ •. ¸ ¸. • ♥ •. ¸. • ♥ •. ¸ ¸. • ♥ •. ¸ ¸.

    Like

  3. Buona Pasqua a tutti Auguri🙂

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  4. Do I have this right? It says I forgot to tell myself “reasonably it was all not really my fault”?

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  5. Ti auguro una Buona Paqua,ciao e buonanotte!

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  6. That’s interesting, but I’d like to take your hand & share with you my world because I believe that you, my friend can make a difference if only you had the right door open up for you to the wealthy world. the door is, http://www.rolexawards.com & tell the wealthy how you would change the world & when you are done tell a close friend, but be sure that when they ask who sent you, say “LondenBerg by Lord Biron”, they know who I am with my errors & misspellings which is exactly like me with my jagged edges. I don’t want to be famous, but what I do want is rest, to finally breathe a sigh of relief for a second, I’m the underground writer of “LondenBerg by Lord Biron” & have breached the site to open up for you, hurry, there’s no time to waste! I trust you! Wait a second, you got to be kidding me. I better grab my coffee, laptop, paper & a taxi because here they come for me again! Hurry, Run, I’ll hold them off & I’ll run toward this alley way!!! & tell arron burnett that I love her, as I steel a quick kiss from her, lol

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