An Old Stove
I wander
without any
destination
tonight
on the roads
of this city
that are not
mine. I walk
like a drunk,
I have lost
the address
of my house.
Inside me,
a chaos
of emotions,
sensations.
As in a dream,
I remember
my small
apartment,
my homeland,
the wood
burning stove,
our fingers
attached to it
that touched
one another
as if by magic…
I remember
so well every
centimeter
of my home,
in another
land, an alley
submerged
in the dark,
the great fire
that did not
extinguish,
which I’ve
never found
elsewhere.
Here I am,
as I wander
without any
destination,
in this city
of the north
that does not
belong to me,
as the image
of an old stove
follows me
with every step,
I can’t tell it
to leave me
in peace.
Every Morning
Every morning prevails
my fragility, it’s stronger
than strength and really
stubborn; it rules, directs
my way, and it takes me
by hand, wanting to send
me to the paths immersed
in the darkness. I obey
and follow it; it has just
vanished my smile, wants
to extinguish my dreams
like the dew on the plants.
I look forward to the day
when the sun will warm
my body, and so my soul
and I shall see my dreams
that like white buds grow.
I Feel Naked
I feel naked in this rough winter,
and I tremble, weak and delicate;
people rush, no one looks at me,
I’m only anonymous to them.
Your hands don’t cover me with
a blanket; they do not touch me,
do not give me warmth, whereas
you go away in a frenzied run and
don’t realize that I’m really cold.
Oh, you don’t see me trembling,
don’t decipher my empty looks,
you see me as one who doesn’t
exist; what really matters is only
your own tranquility and peace.
I feel naked in this rough winter.
After/Thought Literary 