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Sometimes beating hard, sometimes at rest;
my heart knocks softly at the door of my chest.

As if in pain, as if it might die,
as if it longs to break and fly.

As if it fears the weight of my sorrow,
as if it hopes to see you tomorrow.

My heart knocks softly at the door of my chest;
sometimes beating hard, sometimes at rest.


a. (Literal Translation)

Listen to My Heart

Sometimes harder, sometimes faint,
my heart knocks at the door of my chest.

As if it hurts, as if it might die,
as if it longs to burst outside,

As if it fears to die with me,
as if it hopes to see you tomorrow.

My heart knocks at the door of my chest,
sometimes harder, sometimes faint.

b. (Original poem in Romanian)

ascultă inima mea

când mai tare, când mai încet;
inima-mi bate la uşa din piept.

de parcă ar doare-o, de parcă-o să moară,
de parcă s-ar cere să iasă-n afară,

de parcă s-ar teme să moară cu mine,
de parcă ar vrea să te vadă şi mâine.

inima-mi bate la uşa din piept;
când mai tare, când mai încet.
Translated poem from original Romanian
I. Genesis

God began to doubt
His existence...
And He created Man.

II. Apocalypse

Man created the Machine...
And began to doubt
The existence of God.

III. Evolution

The Machine doubted Man...
And began to believe
In God.
and I would have loved,
but I don't believe in love.

and I would have died,
but I don't believe in death...
No,
the poet is not always
the bringer of light!
he can also bring
darkness, hatred, and pain.
he can sing of evil and ugliness.
the poet knows how to squeeze out tears
and smear blood into your eyes.
from his nails, claws can grow
and from his teeth, fangs.
on his forehead, horns he could place
if ever needed.
No,
the poet is not necessarily
dressed in white garments.
he can pass through naked
and laugh madly in hysterics!
and if you strike him,
he will not always
turn the other cheek.
No,
the poet is no angel!
he is a wound—always bleeding—
on the sick heart of the World
and the sleepless eye on Its forehead,
the unforeseen eye.
This poem was originally written in Romanian
Hiding within myself,
from the world,
I found the world I was hiding from,
and in it, I found myself,
hiding within myself,
from the world.
Translated from Romanian
I feel
an angel’s touch, so soft, so near,
a mountain crumbles,
its roar I hear.

I see
the shadows carved by lightning’s glow,
the light of a seed
in the earth below.

I hear
the silence stretched across the years,
curses rising from the graves
through tears.

I believe
in the stain of a demon’s dark embrace,
in the power of words
to claim their space.

I know
who will bear the weight my cross demands,
why the world bleeds
through trembling hands.

I feel
the steps that lead me closer to my breath’s last bend,
the touch of an angel
before the end.

*

I Feel
(Alternative translation I)

I feel
an angel's touch upon my skin
I feel once more
a mountain crashing, tumbling in

I see
the shadows lightning leaves behind
I see anew
the light within a seed confined

I hear
the silences an age has kept
I hear again
the curses rising from the crypt

I trust
the foulness that a demon breeds
I trust still more
the power that resides in deeds

I know
who'll bear the cross that's meant for me
I know as well
why bleeds the heart of all we see

I feel
how many steps till death I tread
I feel once more
an angel's touch upon my head
This poem was originally written in Romanian

— The End —