Sa ne nastem unul din altul, apa din pamant si foc din aer,

sa ne confundam pe rand, si-apoi din nou.

Asta a fost Marele Mister.

Aveai ochii inchisi cand te-am scos din cocon.

Mi-ai multumit ca te-am nascut din pamantul meu,

ca un Pygmalion al noroaielor,

ca te-am dezgropat din mine insami

cu degetele,

cu unghiile,

cu dintii.

Din tine curgea praf, din mine inca apa,

si totul continua sa se roteasca ametitor in jurul nostru,

dar noi, cumva, ne opriseram.

Radeam amandoi – doi nou nascuti – in curentul cercului.

“O sa ne traga inapoi”.

“O sa ma tin de margine”, mi-ai soptit in ureche.

Tu aveai apa pe obraji, eu – tarana pe buze.

-

Dar amandoi aveam degete opozabile.

Inca ma priveai in ochi cand ai desirat capatul dinspre tine

al Ecuatorului si te-ai infasurat in ata ca’ntr-o panza,

si m-ai tras spre tine.

Stateam fata in fata, eu intr-un colt al cercului,

tu in celalalt,

si ne privem tamp,

ca doua gaste ce contempla acelasi bob de porumb.

Ne intelegeam tacit, din miscari premeditate ale ciocului,

din batai de aripi,

din clatinari sucessive pe acelasi drum.

Ne despartea o lume ca un ghem de ata.

-

Amandoi ne intrebam daca gastele mananca porumb.

In secret, visam la degete opozabile.

Te auzeam trosnind – un lemn uscat in focul meu,

si simteam cat de mult te doare.

Dar era un joc pentru doi.

Te auzeam trosnind – un lemn uscat in focul meu,

si simteam cat de mult te doare.

Dar era un joc pentru doi.

Cozi de cirese cadeau in parul tau,

iar tu le scuturai cu mana,

cu o nonsalanta pe care fie o simteai,

fie o inventai in atelierul de sentimente false,

ascuns undeva in minele tale.

Stateam in fata ta si priveam

cu ochii mariti de spaima

cum te amuzi de sufocarea mea.

Ma ineca furtuna de zapada care se revarsa de undeva de sus,

din tine

sau poate

dintr-un altul la fel de rece.

Mi-ai spus ca soarele tau nu apune niciodata,

ca umbrele mele vin si se duc,

In timp ce lumina ta ramane eterna.

Si, intr-adevar, tusind zapada,

mi-am simtit umbrele sfasiate de lumina ta,

de stralucirea ta,

de caldura ta,

si am stiut ca cerul,

ca soarele,

n-au fost decat o moneda aruncata in apa –

un pretext sa ma cunosti o data.

-

Am sarit.

Ti-am inghitit tot cerul, fara sa ma pot opri

si ti-am strigat sa ma opresti, sa opresti monstrul din mine

care stinge lumina soarelui tau.

Yesterday,
I could say a word more than I needed,
a word more and, perhaps, a letter,
a vowel stretched by cords between my lips,
a sign, a signal, a frown at times to put a mirror
in your face.

The night has passed and now
I say no words.
No vowels round my lips
nor do frowns nor sneers curl my brows
in much desired ways.
I now lie open on your table.
My guts went out, my stomach turned,
my head keeps swinging in a thousand swings,
my hands fight desperate to find a knife
to cut myself loose.

And you… you lie beside me and stare up,
your eyes wide open, your teeth gritted hard.
You smile a smile of a billion words and
the corners of my mouth are drawn up.
You shake in compulsive laughter and my chest
starts jumping, as if a woodpecker was carving there
a question mark I just can’t understand.

I feel my chest with trembling fingers.
My heart beats in its place – I feel relieved –
and next to it there is another,
beating to the pace of my own, pausing just enough
to let me wonder.

My blood runs twice as fast – and so does yours.
I breathe the breath of two, I feel so much more.
I see a sight no human’s ever seen.
My fears go naked and ashamed for real.
I am the double of one man and more.
I know what I should know and less
from what I should forget or pass.

I’m nothing more than just another you,
the spitting image of my real self,
I feel our veins curled up in infinite wires,
stretching to bond us in one blood,
a happier experiment of a younger Mengele,
a new me, adapted to the new you.

I smile and the corners of your lips
go up.

What do I mean to you, now that you know me?
What do I mean?
Am I less intriguing, now that you know my ways,
Am I less smart, or funny or kind?
Now, that you see who I am, do you find me
Less worthy?
Now, that you can guess my moves,
Now, when you understand me better,
Now, when I’m not much of an enigma,
What do I mean to you?

Does knowing one mean you cannot love,
Or feel,
Or touch,
Or find that one still worthy to be yours?

Does knowing one imply a colder self,
A distant attitude you can’t deny,
A way of being that you can’t decline,
An unknown feeling that you just can’t stand?

What is then knowing if it binds your kind?
What is your kind if bonded by knowing?
How can you claim you seek the truth,
Yet when you find it, you deride its face?
What is worth knowing, I dare say,
If by knowing, you lose your taste?
What is worth knowing if you care to know
Not what would make you happy,
But what would stay unknown.
What is worth knowing if you just can’t bear
Unveiling the intricate pattern some may have?
What is worth knowing?…

And how can you love without knowing?
Or how can you know without loving?
What’s knowing but uncovering a scene
And finding every actor in its place,
Prepared to deliver a line,
Crystal clear,
Prepared to whisper, if need be,
To cry, to die, to act by all means,
If need be…?
How can you know the ways of things
And not adore their simplicity?
Or how can you claim you love a thing
Without understanding each of its bits?
For you can’t love the greatness in a horse
And mock the fact it ends with hoofs.
What do I mean to you, now that you know me?