as long as it's night here
over there it will be morning
great things will be said tomorrow,
but not as great as for the world
not to remain the same.
you brought keys bigger than the doors
that must be opened.
there is so much noise behind, on the corridors,
and how little one can hear here!
maybe we advanced more than we should have.
maybe the last in the line have found the exit
exactly where we came in.
maybe, pulled away from the hinges,
the room took off away from us.
and we put keys in left and right
search for doors that don't exist,
we insist in not ever raising our eyes.
where shouldn't we have entered? from where
shouldn't we have gotten out?
the friend says this summer will be long
and that the wars will be put off again,
because birth have been again
too few this year.
therefore once more will remain only the war against oneself.
now, good night. day breaks here too.
the room drew back from us long ago,
and we keep groping even now with the keys for the doors.
what are you doing? you put your key between my ribs.
you wanna get in? are you struggling to get out?
or only to open and nothing more?
i told you: outside it is summer and it's sunny.
outside there is no longer what you thought.
get out of my bedclothes, i come from hell
and my flesh is burning with horror.
Ioan Es. Pop, **The Livid Worlds
Ioan Es. Pop (born 1958) is a Romanian poet.