(Literal Translation from Romanian)

This poem, actually,
it's not even a poem,
just some random text
that
will waste your time
and energy,
will try to hurt you
and rub salt in the wound,
it will mess with you a bit.
That's what happens when you don't read
what you're supposed to.
This text was born
to teach you a lesson:
next time
be more careful
with what you choose to read!

(Alternative translation I)

A Poem Not Meant to Be Read

This poem, in truth,
is no poem at all,
just a simple text,
meant to stall—
to steal your time,
your energy, too,
to wound your soul
and rub in the salt,
mocking you,
it’s your fault.

That’s what happens, don’t you see,
when you read what’s unworthy.

This text was born with a goal in mind:
to set you straight, to make you find
a better path, a wiser way—
be cautious in the books you stray!

(Alternative translation II)

not recommended for reading

this poem truthfully
isn't even poetry,
just some random text
that will steal your time
and drain your energy,
will try to wound you deep
and on that wound will heap
salt, in other words
it's making fun of you.
that's what you get, it's true,
when you don't read what's due.
this text was meant to be
a lesson, you will see:
next time
be more careful
with what you choose to read!

(Original poem)

poezie nerecomandată lecturii

această poezie, de fapt
nici nu e poezie,
ci doar un text oarecare
care
îţi va lua ceva timp
şi ceva energie,
va încerca să te rănească
şi pe rană să-ţi presoare
sare,
adică îsi va bate niţel joc de tine.
aşa-i, când nu citeşti
ceea ce se cuvine.
acestui text i-a fost dat să se nască
pentru a te pune la cale:
altădată
să fii mai precaut
în lecturile tale!

Of course, I love you,
as a leaf would love
the branch on which it grows.

Of course, I want you,
as a wing would long for
the air to take flight.

Of course, I await you,
as the earth awaits
for us all...

These words
should scream out loud!
They should howl in pain
and weep with tears.

These words should run,
jump,
bend in half,
spit blood,
grind their teeth
and curse!

These words would kick,
grab throats,
bite,
scratch,
pull hair,
and gouge out eyes.

These words would want to curse
and hate.
These words could die
of venom,
only to rise again
and die once more.

These words would go mad...

...if only they could spring to life!

If I wasn’t,
it was because you weren’t either,
it was so we might someday be,
and because I already am.

If I am,
it’s because Someone loves me,
it’s because you love me, too,
and because I still am.

If I am, if I still am,
it’s so I can love you too,
so I can someday die,
and because I will one day no longer be.

If I will no longer be,
it’s so you will miss me,
so you all will miss me,
and because I already was.

If I was,
it’s because you were, too,
it’s because I had to be,
it’s because...

When yesterday aches to the point of tears,
And you don't know what tomorrow will bring,

When no one needs you,
And you need no one,

When life is just beginning,
And when life is already ending,

When you are alone at night,
When you are alone in broad daylight,

When you are still alone in a crowded room,

When it's too late to change anything,
And you can't turn back time,

When it's too late to stop,
But you can't go on,

When you can no longer forgive anyone,
And you no longer believe in anything,

When you are waiting for someone to come,
While someone else is waiting for you to leave,

When your tears have long since dried,
But the pain still lingers,

When you are no more...

It is because
Someone you love
Has forgotten you.

I don't recognize it anymore,
I can't decipher it from the words,
From the letters black as lice.
Its wings are broken,
its body was torn and frayed,
Its face is stretched like a puddle on the asphalt.

It's broken into pieces,
Tangled and knotted,
And ugly.
And it stinks, indeed, it reeks...
Of printer's ink
And yellowed paper,
Moldy
And damp.

It's not mine anymore,
I don't recognize it,
It's a stranger to me,
It's mute.

And it can only cough,
And whimper,
And rattle,
And wheeze,
And howl,
And scream,

That it wants to be read,
That it wants to be seen,
Wants to be heard,
Wants to be known,

Felt, grieved, lived, loved.
Whispered, shouted, but most of all:
Sung,
And reread and recited...

And I think
That it might have remained
A beautiful
Unwritten poem.

If you were ever to steal my poetry,
wouldn't you bring it right back to me,
not knowing what to do with it, you see?