to make you fall asleep
like a bird in its nest,
I’ll hold all the
summer rains in my
arms
just for you
I’ll carry all
summer rains, I will
carry them in
my
arms,
like a heart on fire

And
I’ll never be beautiful for anyone,
Not even for you,
I will never hide my chickenpox,
Grind me to sand, and I'll shout to the wind,
Wash me! Wash me away!

I’ll never pretend that I am pretty for anyone,
Not even for you,
I’ll let my skin dry like the Atacama desert,
I’ll let the harsh mountain storm bite my face,
The eagles eat my flesh on the tower of silence, so
There is nothing left to dream about,
Not even bone dust for the rain,

I’ll fight like gladiators, not to be beautiful for anyone,
Not even for you,
I won’t let the clouds overshadow my scalp,
I’ll pull right now, one by one, every hair follicle,

What you ask me to be is not beauty, it is a butterfly
That flies and flies around a light bulb
Until it dies

A shadow that weaves white nights,
I will not invent myself to be pretty for anyone,
Not even for you,

If you wish to enter my blood,
You have to swim in the imperishable waters,

the space
was invaded by his disappearance,
everything he touched felt so quiet, and alive,
more alive than i was,

(i sat on the bed, curled, like a dog,
with the nozzle on its paws,
eyes in tears)

the chair remained near the window,
closer to the flowers, and closer to the light,
i watched it as if it belonged to a king: -
this chair knew him better, - i never
could imprint his image, it was always slippery, like ice,
and,
now, my innocent eyes, like the best detectives, are
trying to reconstruct his body,
drawing its contour in the air, how you would
outline a dead person on the asphalt,

its scent, i follow,
how the air goes back and forth, from me to the chair,
from the chair to me, filling the invisible shape,

i could sense as if he were sitting
somewhere in the room, in a corner,
his skin, and his touch was there; it felt
as if he made love with the room, with the bed, and
the bed was in love with his body for letting
the memory of him to be its very essence, the
concave shape deepening in the mattress, and
the mattress was breathing as if it had its heart in it.

it was the ~fureur~ its very core,
the turbulence - it felt like the walls were built for
this kind of appearance,

the home without unequal images
it was just a cave waiting for the man
to be born again, and discover the fire

Don't love me,
Please don't touch
                      me (as if I were
poison ivy)
But
Let me run barefoot
Through the morning
Dew, and caress
The
Vines, when they bloom,
Let me
Get drunk with the
Rays of the day,
And I'll make you
Sleep like a bird in its nest,
For you, I'll hold
All summer rains in my arms,

…Only for you
I will carry all summer rains, I'll carry them
In my arms,
Like a heart on fire...

Не люби меня,
Прошу, не трогай
                             меня (словно
ядовитый плющ),
Но
позволь мне
пробежать босиком
по утренней
росе и погладить
виноградную лозу, когда
она цветёт,
позволь мне
напиться дневными
лучами,
и я уложу тебя
спать, как птицу в
гнезде,
для тебя
я буду держать
все летние дожди в
своих объятиях,

…только для тебя
я буду носить все
летние дожди, я
буду носить их
в своих объятиях,
как пылающее
сердце...

Глаза блуждали
В ожидании,
Молча,
Всматриваясь
Напрасно,
Несмотря на это,
Он их расширил
Широко раскрыв, словно
Искал что-то интересное,
Очень
Осторожно,
Молча,

Как ленивый медведь, он положил её на старый деревянный стол.
Осторожно,
снова
складывая
свою смелость
поднимая
железные руки
обнажая
Осторожно,
жестяной кусочек,
скручивая
B тихом шуме
сигарету
Крепкой
низкосортной
рустики,
разновидность
великой­
чистки
голода
убивающей
уважительной
причины,
Одна пачка в день
Помогала, чертовски
Помогала.

Помогала пережить
холод,
и повседневный
труд, когда
солдаты и муравьи
голодали,
Махорка,
инсектицид
свободы.

О, черт.

Молча,
Тщетно глядя,
Несмотря на это,
Он держал их
                          широко открытыми,
Осторожно,
Молча.

Авторское право © Мария Митеа | Год публикации: 2025

Достаточно дышать
Прикоснуться к тебе

Достаточно дышать
Пусть твой голос поёт

Достаточно дышать
Видеть, как ты
                        приходишь и
                уходишь
Ходишь как ангел

i watch the raindrops
how
they slid from the leaves,
and slide
without holding on to the air,
drawing circles
on the face of the
river,
from the Center
towards the outside,
without a compass,

the circles grow
and grow
until the sound of a
trumpet swallows them,
announcing the flight
of the morning
on the wings of the
horizon,

i watch the raindrops
how
they slid from the leaves,
and slide
without holding on to the air,
drawing circles
on the face of the
river,
from the Center
towards the outside,
without a compass,

the circles grow
and grow
until the sound of a
trumpet swallows them

There are so many clouds I can ignore,

There are so many rains I can make invisible, like
Tears that never get a chance to touch the air,

There are so many shadows I can **** like a samurai,
Without blinking a tiny bit,
Without sneezing, a queasy-dizzy,

But I ignore you,

You, I ignore,
                      -cause you are the one I must put in the Blind Spot

On a morning like this, lethargic and indifferent,
It is so easy to make me rich,
When the pain is moving slowly and smoothly, and
I hold on to you, like a monkey,
                                                         ­            Sob on me,
Make me the richest woman in the world,
Richer than Hetty Green,
Greedier than Hetty Green,

Can you see, my dear, how fast it is raining?
And the forest, a trickster, is washing its leaves,
Pretending that it cares while it is cheating with the rapper.

No one tells them that after the colors explode,
They will invade their hearts, like big Colonizers,
Will put names on them, and play cards,
Drink whiskey, laugh, and feed the earth, so after
They can ride their horses as a symbol of freedom and kindness,
Making donations and digging water wells,

On a morning like this, I believe,
Our story is like that of the gold seekers,
It is so easy to make me rich,
Make me the richest woman in the whole world,
Richer than Hetty Green,
Greedier than Hetty Green,

Dig me, baby, it is in my eyes,
Whisper in my ear, while the cold raindrops are touching my face,
They are hiding in my hair, on a morning like this,
Be my tears, lethargic and indifferent,
Ask the leaves, on a morning like this,
I hope they do not lose their mind,
                                                And will remember me in the spring

…  my heart is made of birds
                      chirping …………   it’s about time,
for the raven to leave,

sunrise on cotton leaves …..
                               singing in the dew shower,
                                                        It’s about time
For the raven to leave,

…. a full forest singing just for me,
                                                     IT’ S ABOUT TIME
For the R-A-V-E-N to leave

If the desire for life is not burning your heart,

If the desire for life is not burning your heart,
go to the flower fields, lie down in the green grass, and kiss it
until it gets your lips green
green  - green -  and
                                    deepen your hands în the black earth,
deepen your hands în the black earth,
squeeze its roots,
                            squeeze its roots,
squeeze its roots, like a child does,
let its juices drain through your fingers

let its juices drain through your fingers

let its juices drain through your fingers

meet the sun rising like a Lover,
let it be your guiding myth,
let it be your silent light,

flow with the waves of the sea,
                                                 flow with the waves of the sea,
randomly, give a hug to a seagull, and dream, dream, dream...

After,
if you are tempted, you can try over and over ... over ...
if help is needed, the wind can help,
                                                    let the heart open like a rose,
share the dawn,
                         roses love to be touched only by the morning dew
dew dew dew
dew
after, if you  are tempted, try again, one more time,

(…all we do here, my dear, is try
            to recover
                         the wings we once lost in the rain …)

a fish bone
stuck in your throat
that you have to get along with it

Spreads sun atoms all over the place,
It feels like the planet will soon stop moving.
The wind, like a baby, is playing
                      -  is building staircases from leaves,
It spins them around, then rests.
Trows seeds in the air: oak nuts, mushrooms
and tears,
                and, like fainted lovers in the night,
Waits for a harvest of snowflakes

I read Zygmunt Bauman, but I think of the Aeneid and
                                                                  the seven years of wandering, and
the Nashua river that keeps flowing beside me, and the storm from last night, and
the tree blown down, which is still on the ground, lying  as if it was tired and went to sleep,
the only difference now is that the roots stand with their mouth opened up speaking with the clouds,
                                waiting for the rain, waiting for the night,
begging

In the winter i'll come
I'll come to you in the winter -
                                            In the winter I'll come,
Like a flake, i'll fall in your palms,

In the winter i'll come,
Galloping on the white wind, in my hair, to hold you,
                                    With the horizon waving,

Don't go, don't go,
I will come, don't forget me,
I am lost among strangers,
                            I'll come, wait for me -
Like a tear, i'll drop from the sky
                    to kiss your warm cheeks,

Whisper to me again - eternity,
                                      I'll come, wait for me,
In the winter, i'll fall,
                    Like a flake, i will fall in your palms
I'll melt

I am thinking to invite you for a cup of tea

      i  imagine how
                            slow
                                    the teapot will boil
                                                              on the stove

the steam will colonize the air in the room ~
                                                          conquer the silent walls

politely
          we’ll sit near the window at the little oak table
will
    support our elbows,
                                    hands ~  the chins,
    face-to-face,
                          like a frozen perfume
                                                            in the air,
reading into each other's eyes
                                                  ~ the dreams

after,
        watching how the leaves are falling
                                                                as if fainting

he touched her by mistake,
staggering, almost falling off her feet,
eyes soon enough met,
the light seemed like a piece of mirror
                thrown into them,
                                            shards,
a glassy glow,

    that shine you see sometimes in tears,
on her face as round as a rosy apple,
cheeks high to the sky, the lips careless

he could’ve reached out by accident
to catch her, perhaps, by the waist,
- ask from where she comes,
release her like a veil blown by the wind

Make me a declaration of love, my dear,
Send me expensive gifts,
Hundreds of camels, or a sphinx with a golden crown on his head,  
Annihilating any ray of light,
You will see how the whole world will collapse around me

to catch the rain on the grass crown,
bring the light closer
when
hides behind the horizon:
we also need sunset
arranging his collar,  like the lion's-mouth flower,
she looks at his chest as it rises up, down,
touches his face, soft fingers glide,
antarctica is just an ice cap,
beneath her springs flow, mountains sleep:
we must have a coincidence of floating clouds
like steam
humidity as far as embracing the desert,
calm storm,  leaves
the birds return to the nest:
- and that's all we need?

and look at the moon, see how it swallows its shadow,
to remain still until dawn appears
carolers of your *******
on my forehead
the sweat
with a thirst for death
to bury
at the root
of the grass blade
the sleeplessness

i still admire her as i used to admire a flower,
i still dream of her as only the muses dream
to the stars, and beyond
still,
she seems quite aerial,
pretty, neat in that little red dress
mulatto,
i admire how she curves, how burns like a firework
on her high heels,
elegant,
looks strong like a sultan,
attractive as in the "dolce&gabbana" commercials
looks like she knows what she's doing,
i admire her like a fool and wonder:
will she let me touch her zipper,
to draw butterflies on her belly button,
to let her fly free like a monarch again
on a distant island to dream of spring-waters, and
gather wild flowers with hair in the wind,
to be the mistress of the winds

Я проснулся с глазами, полными снов,
протянулa руку, чтобы обнять тебя,
тебя больше не было,
нет подушки,
ни твой  gillette запах,
ни твои ленивые шаги,
ты уже не был богемным поэтом, каким был тогда в Париже, в полночь,
ты стал строителем, я видел, как ты собирал камни, строил дом на краю света,
у тебя трое детей, жена и коза,
все решено,

Я сварил себе кофе, пью,
Джоп Бевинг поет «Paris s'enflamme».
как падающий лист, я пью,
не теряясь в мыслях,
не говоря ни слова,
дождь моет хмурые от старости дубы,
все чисто, как когда ты родился,
например, когда ты плачешь и слезы омывают твои щеки,
только корни свернулись, скручены и впились в землю,
заботясь о том, чтобы не усыпить лес, не истечь кровью,
как проста жизнь на свете,
как все просто,

Я допил кофе и долго смотрел на него,
остались только основания,
когда думаешь, насколько горечь этого бразильского напитка пробуждает аппетит,
Я в ней не читаю, выбрасываю в мусорку, и
как змея, залезь под пуховое одеяло,
Я лежу в яйце,
что тебе остается делать после того, как ночь украла жемчужину у тебя из-под языка,
спи дальше в норе кренделя,
далеко-далеко от дождя и всех этих выкрутасов, маскарада, хрипловатых стихов,
и говорю себе: - как все просто,
как проста жизнь

Автор:
Мария Митеа

I woke up with my eyes full of dreams,
I reached out to hold you
you were no more,
no pillow,
nor your gillette smell,
nor your lazy steps,
you were no longer a bohemian poet as you were then in Paris, at midnight,

you became a constructor,  I saw you collecting stones,  building a home on the edge of the world,
you have 3 children, a wife and a goat,
everything is solved,

I made myself a coffee, I sip,
Joep Beving sings "paris s'enflamme",
like a falling leaf, I sip,
without getting lost in thought,
without saying a word,
the rain washes the oaks frowning with old age,
everything is clean like when you are born,
like when you cry and the tears wash your cheeks,
only the roots are curled up, twisted&drunk in the ground,
taking care not to put the forest to sleep, not to bleed,
how simple life is in the light,
how simple everything is,

I finished the coffee&looked at it  for a long time,
only the grounds remained,
when you think how much the bitterness of this Brazilian drink awakens your appetite,
I don't read in it, I throw it in the trash, and
like a snake, crawl under the feather duvet,
I lie down in the egg,
what's left for you to do after the night has stolen the pearl from under your tongue,
sleep further in the pretzel hole,
far far away from the rain and all these frills, masquerade, hoarse poems,
and I say to myself: - how simple everything is,
how simple life is

когда ты видишь, как тень ползет от пола к стене,
ветка падает,
Mеркнет заря, смятая в ладонях,
спираль дыма отчаивается в своем поступке,
чтобы не попасться на глаза, отходит в сторону,
эволюция работала над этими голубыми глазами миллионы лет, это не шутка,
ты следишь за каждым движением
как шпион
тень возвращается:
- снова будь диким, нырни в зеленую воду
солнечный полет,
со стрелой в спине,
зовите руки, кричите, плывите,
она прилив в груди,
просто прилив,
луна эллипс конец, цепь,
он вращается вокруг своей оси
как концентратор,
воды разбивают облака, кровоточат между бедрами,
невинность позволяет нам увидеть долины под ее ногами,
не позволяй своим легким растаять в дыму, как забытая родниковая вода
из воздуха,

как трава,
гладкий и нежный,
родниковая вода черпает жизнь из могил,
вне траура,
поэтому ропот похож на крик,
вздох,
и жажда,
голод,
река сглаживает поток,
и ветер оседает на твоей щеке, ждет,
перо упадёт тебе на голову,
в бездне
ждет, когда ты посмотришь на небо, изумленно спросишь: - кто меня бьет,
кто бьет меня каждый раз, когда я пытаюсь найти утешение,
убежище,
умиротворенность,

когда ты видишь, как тень ползет от пола к стене,
ропот возводит любой побег в ранг гениальности


Автор:
Мария Митеа

when you watch the shadow crawl from the floor to the wall,
a branch falls,
the dawn crushed in the palms fades,
the spiral of smoke despairs of its own act,
not to enter your sight, moves aside,
evolution worked on these blue eyes for millions of years, no joke,
you follow every move
like a spy
the shadow returns:
- be wild again, dive into the green water
sunlit,
with the arrow in the back,
call your arms, shout, swim,
she is a tide in the chest,
just a tide,
the moon an ellipse end, a chain,
it spins around his axis
like a hub,
the waters break the sky, bleed between the thighs,
innocence lets us see the valleys beneath her feet,
don't let your lungs melt into smoke like a forgotten spring
out of air,

like grass,
tender and gentle
the spring draws its life from the graves,
out of mourning,
that's why the murmur resembles a cry,
a sigh,
and thirst,
hunger,
and the river smooths the stream,
and the wind settles on your cheek, waits
a feather to fall on your head,
in the abyss
waiting for you to look at the sky, amazed, to ask: - who is hitting me,
who hits me every time i try to find solace,
refuge,
serenity,

when you watch the shadow crawl from the floor to the wall,
the murmur elevates any escape to the rank of genius

so stubborn,
and generous,
it falls
            drop by drop,
it falls
          in the battle like kings,
bringing (us) tears for a feast

if I were to listen to my soul
I would die at this very moment as I write,
the  poem to remain unfinished like a sphinx,

if I were to listen to my soul I would die like the bird that shatters the window with its chest,
-dead,
sleeping in violet flowers,

if I were to listen to my soul I would fly to you like a hawk,

but I don't listen to him, I don't listen to him, and I don't die, and I don't smash windows, and I don't fly,

I drink water, I drink water, and
I am hiding in the grass, waiting for the storm to do it all,

but if I would listen to my soul, alas if I would listen to my soul

i felt you'd come back,
there's no other way
I know her, she likes to cool off in the soft white snow,

with the hand on my heart, I swear,
at the new moon, you are my only lover,
i see her in your lips, as sharp as  fantasy swords,
in them, you have me sweet like blood,

why wait for cactus arms to grow,
and the next flowers to bloom,
  cut the juicy, thorny fruit, red pulp,
we won't wait for the pollination,
days are made for farmers, not  lovers,
how bright, you write, that want to kiss my photo,
but what a photo is? my love, what? if not just paper,
let's bloom in less than twenty-four hours,
let's make them all, all saguaro flowers, die from jealousy and envy,
with hate and madness to **** the desert,

i'll come at night, disguised (as a mexicano bat)
let's make the night our heaven
and the new moon, a snowflake that falls in your olive eyes

(although, once i loved a man with wolf eyes)

i can't touch you,
i'm forbidden to touch you,
to think of you, to sigh
          but i can see the seagulls
flying over the sea
            and screaming
                                and flying
i see how the waves are throwing stones at them
                                                    and they don't look back,

i”m forbidden to look into your eyes
but i can bathe in them like a tear,
and touch your warm cheeks,
until i drown in leaves,
i'm forbidden to kiss you,
but i can look for the summer,

i'm not allowed to touch you,
to sigh,
but i can smell you like an orchid
born without laws, without oaths,
before the sphinx man,
born of steam and smoke,

look, they overpopulate the earth
shooting "arrows" covered in pollen,
                                                        i­­n all directions

My love,
it might seem strange our encounter, and
the words that move the air like an earthquake, from north to south,
                                                          ­                              south to north,
bathing the stars,
and the stars aligning the sounds.


I will tell you more about Snow Town, but you tell me about your heart,
                                                          ­                dreaming of going up north,
where saddened icebergs are melting in the eyes of the ignorant:
- can you hear how hungry white bears are screaming for help,
drowning with their babies.

Do not cry, my love, we still have the old mail post box,
monarch butterflies are bringing me letters from you,
the owls are watching every move
and the turtles
                          keep moving for hundreds of years
                                                           ­   and never get tired.

We are so lucky, my love, so fortunate,
what else we can do if we are made for love, like butterflies.

Tell me, that no land can be more ready, dry-cold-hot
                                than the pole-north & chihuahua desert,
two lovers that only can dream of ice shadows, and the fantom of Georgia O'Keeffe, our mother, still, painting roads in the snow for the blind one,
calling them home.

my love,

just give me this day,
                                   as if we are airplanes, parading, and
flying in between the clouds,
                               gray sky,
clooooouuuuuuds,
like in those black-and-white (II war) documentaries,


i promise,
               not to add other colors to them,
why should i,
                     when the original is the original,  and
it has to remain original,


my love, what is the point in watching colored war movies,
when Africa, like a fire,  was coughed up in the middle

i hide you under my skin
                                 like a war archive, -  a secret code,                    
is not hard at all, it comes naturally, like drawing, or
tyquando,
there is no dominance in the heartbeats market,
without rehearsing twice, they ripe like peaches,
waiting for the next wave to tear apart every cell,

*my love,
like an ingrown toenail , you are hiding under my skin, -
just because we use the same room,
                              hiding and escaping is not the same thing

criminal touch,        infractor that kills on paper,
torment me,
                    torment me,
                                        and let me dream of you,
- have you below the air

      i will  fall on my knees, like a leaf, when
the earth cracks from one end to the other, half awake,
half asleep,
        let me learn your firmness,  drown my eyes in every word,
- a blind man, with the tip of my  fingers i read your blood,
                                                          ­                    your lips -
chaotic, whispering:  - what a calligraphic writing, organized and
without mistakes,

let your rigor entice me, like a spear piercing you,
          passing through the air                        until we become experts,
specialists in criminal law

it's not hard to touch you,

he asked me:
- did you hear the winds last night,
and how the tender branches bent on you
like wings,

i reached home late,
fed the dog,
sipped camomile tea,
covered with stardust,
and drifted away, like an echo, will

last night I slept with the moon in bed,
I didn't close the window like before: -
come in when you want, I told her,
and she came in,

morning arrived,
I woke up, full
the moon
sat on the left side of the bed, with the heart in hands,
the sun rose on the right

Even if you don't sleep, this night will pass,
It will pass, and
The morning will come, and the sun will rise,
With its rays bright, silky, bushy, without mercy,
Without consolation, it will tear the clouds apart,
Split the sky in two, like a woman in labor,
The day will be born, perfect child,
Perfect reincarnation, without the need to find
The closest point to Earth, the most distant,
It will pass as if it was not, and never will be, again,
It will, slowly, rotate in the way of the Hunting Moon

in the same dream-like spell,
in the name  of now,
in stones
we bury the past alive,

for we shall dance with the birds,
swim with the fish,
walk like monkeys, kissing the earth,
kissing the earth as if
is the last lover,
below the last horizon

Let love be the  blowing wind,

Let love be the crying rain,
Screaming crow,

Eyes to eyes, lips to lips,
Skin to skin,
Life dreams Life, and Love dreams Love,

God dreams God,

Only flowers siiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiing,

Leeet looove beee the  blooowing wiiind,
Leeet looove beee the cryyyying raaain,
Leeet looove beee the screeeaming crooowww,


While the sun is shining bright,
Shining only for the night,

Leeet looove beee the  blooowing wiiind,
Leeet looove beee the cryyyying raaain,
Leeet looove beee the screeeaming crooowww,

Do you think you can write poetry? messing up with centuries of poetry,
be the best  AI-******* in the poetry world?

Do you think you can step on Shakespeare,& Lermontov, Rumi,
and crash the human soul?

Do you?

the rain is
nostalgic
romantic, and
pretty
like a sad muze,
the best day for poetry to spring, and
breathe fresh air,
somehow,
we,
people, besides whining and complaining about the ugly weather, still get quieter without noticing
that rain, like a peacemaker, is trying hard to make us stop and surrender to life as everything around us
does
make peace on earth as the sky is crying

I don't know how it found  you, but
tonight is the full yellow moon,
it is shining like gold, and the grass is submissive,
the farmers are working hard, cutting it for the cows,

My real lover has come,
he returned, but
he is drunk,
and I don't know how to touch him,
I don't know how to kiss him,

My lover returned -
God is one, has no equal,
but, I don't know how to love  him,
Caresse him

Rockefeller Centre do you have a garbage can,
do you have an electric charger
Rockefeller Centre do you have water,
Rockefeller Centre do you have a happy life???

we learned to sit like birds on a wire,
the bicycle,
unicycle, the backward somersault,
the front somersault, the chair on the wire,
the bed on a cloud,
seated in a hyperloop toilet,
69,
96 in an 8,
jumping through hoops: what we are doing here?
it looks almost unreal, so
we started to reinvent the wire, like emil cioran,
we reinvented insomnia and
the otherness …

it's enough to breathe
to touch you

it's enough to breathe
let your voice sing

it's enough to breathe
to see you come and go
walk like an angel

caresses the guitar with his jelly fingers
he sings "y my love"


the rain is coming anyway
it's coming and lifting you up in the sky


chris rea sings "i don't sleep tonight"
"y my love"


i make love with  the sky,
you make love with the rain

chris rea plays the guitar
"there is nothing to fear"

to dig and dig,  to trace  endless chains of causes and effects,
to dig and dig seems as foolish as trying to build a castle from sand and hope that will touch the sky,

it was a hot burning day,
now is  raining,  and the thunder is turning the sky upside down,
while the lighting, like a God, to be seen,  and wanted, came at my window,  
touched my heart,

is not easy
to find from which spot  of the sky we are falling,
from which cloud

only
the steam pushes you toward me

  the floor is flying, smashed
like marble

lying
under the table
is licking my feet and  
palm

we look at him
swallowing the void like the night is swallowing the stripper,

and the rain falls on the window
  drop by drop