Poetry is not a replacement for food

Poetry is not a replacement for food,said father
Concerned with fixing the kitchen sink
Glad that he might have found a new axiom
Or the theory of the air compressed

Please,I don't wanna hear about the soul again!
I've studied enough to know
Soul does not need food
Nor water

But father,said I
You need to dress it up in good deeds
From time to time to caress it
With words of grace

He never bought me a poetry book
I had to read from the others
As my life had been written
By their unfamiliar hands

If I could ever,ever
Show him
How poetry is my best friend
My suture for sadness...

While you were dreaming

Night throws dissected beads
On the lace of heaven
Slumbering insects lurking in the grass
Their eyes tiny as a needle pr*ck
Stoned in their couch
You're dreaming and
Rain caresses your window
The eye lashes are silk
Perfectly framed in the shell of time
 
I will whisper a fairy tale
So as to make you come closer
On the same path a lullaby
I don't find it unknown anymore
 
I ran out of love
When you caught me up
A heart spreading
In the common chests
 
Now I remember
How heat enveloped us
From the elbows to the knees
Sparks vibrating
With the crucifixion of our first kiss
 

Maybe there's a light at the end of sorrow (dedicated to Deb)

the funeral cortege passed through your soul
in small steps, whispering sadness
he forgot to ask for a last hug
with the womb

it's true that once he had been
a peak, a rock in the mountain
until wind painted
a crucifixion

i'll keep your memory alive,said her
hooks will not have anyone to hang but myself
whose meat to cut into small pieces
since I am doomed
the death i'll welcome arms wide open

maybe there's a light at the end of sorrow
and this gray morning will turn up to be a wake up call
in my falling the angels are near
as to the very first stone to follow me

Bequest for Maria

please have mercy of this dry hand
touching the universe to write to you
maybe for the last time
a life story
lost in the mystery of your smile
as a measurement for happiness
I fall asleep

hungry letters
feel the need for light
through the translucent vibrations
I listen to the echo
of the trembling lips

now I understand the game
a clouds relies on vocals
lightnings whisper consonants
the rain kneads the words

maria I am just a child
I sip bits of breathings
the sights of the walls transcend
into rebuilding the peace
barefoot I play with the ABC of silence
as I scribble on the sand
a poem with my tears

Consider this the true meaning of love

I'll tell you once more about love
As a secular prayer catapulted skyward
Drawn in the sand of oblivion seconds witness
A sparkling touch

I'm a life addict,but related to death
Although I do not remember how far I wander
Into your ribs
When they come out of the darkness
It's such a small world out there
You help me keep it warm
I lean against the moments
Breathing my shadow in your palms

Just a passage and the infinite re-opens the wounds
Lonely I, as a bird
Under the twilight mirror
Dragging the meat
In search for a shelter

Unwritten poem about love( translated from romanian.original poem by Nadia Padure)

I feel the need to write
This thought's following me like a shadow
I have to write about love
It's as if one searches for a sun ray
In the morning mists
I have to write about love
But all I think about is the bird in the heights
The flight,the wings embracing the air
Just like the arms of a woman
Floating through the wheat field
I dream that bird as a ghost
Calling me in the night
Beyond the rusty gates of pain
A calling as a cry for life
Or maybe a song gathered
From the blue silences of the sky
I must knead a poem about that bird in my heart
So as not to fly in the country where all the birds
Never come back in our dreams
Beyond the flight only eternity writes poetry
In the jaded hearts
I have to write about a bird....
trebuie să scriu
gândul mă urmărește ca o umbră
trebuie să scriu despre dragoste
e ca și cum aș căuta o rază
în ceața dimineții
trebuie să scriu despre dragoste
dar eu mă gândesc la pasărea din înalturi
și la zborul ei cu aripile
ce îmbrățișează văzduhul
ca brațele femeii
plutind prin lanul de grâu
visez pasărea ca pe o nălucă
care mă strigă în noapte dincolo de porțile
ruginite ale durerii
chemarea ei precum un țipăt de viață
sau poate e cântecul adunat
din tăcerile albastre
ale cerului
trebuie să frământ un poem despre această pasăre
din inima mea
atât cât nu a zburat în țara de unde păsările
nu se mai întorc în vise
dincolo de zborul ei doar veșnicia mai scrie poeme
în inimile roase de vremuri
trebuie să scriu despre o pasăre