Towards or in circles we run?

I wandered aimlessly in a swamp known as Life

And each step I took felt like a butchers’ knife:

Adamant it hit the bone, reaching for the heart

Making me wonder if today I’ll come apart.

Cunning and deceiving proved to be this quagmire-

Was it there happiness and now’s Alzheimer?

Hapless and feckless I felt but not anymore barren-

I met someone and now I was going to meet Charon.

The clouds were running as hell and I could see the light

Which was coming from you and I knew it’s alright.

It was Friday, but you were waiting for me for a while.

Suddenly, this trip with the boat didn’t seem so hostile.

‘Which circle would you like to see first, my dear?’

‘The second suits you best’, said Charon with a sneer.

‘Or maybe the fifth, but wouldn’t be that unfair? ‘

‘None- this love breathes only heavens’ fresh air’.

Durerea

Se mişca pădurea cu foşnetul aiurea
Se frângea furtuna in sufletul unui trecător
Care pe Moarte aprig si-o dorea
Uitând ca padurea l-a dat nemuritor.
Dar, el, nu se lăsa si astfel o lupta crâncenă se năştea:
Crengi uscate trosnind a durere si plânset înăbuşit
Incercau prin carne drum să-şi croiască,
Trunchiuri si radacini izbuteau sa-l lovească-
Dar cum poti opri o durere de neoprit,
Cum putea padurea oare sa omoare
Lava de sentimente care din suflet erupea
Precum Vezuviul la trezirea sa?
Si durerea curgea, curgea precum Dunărea
Cea bătrână, mare si adâncă,
Si durerea era mare, mare precum Luna
Cea alba, imemorială si nemuritoare.
Lupta asta nu avea sorţi de izbândă-
Curand el a realizat-
Caci lutul trupului său era o parte
Din ţărâna padurii si o parte din Moarte ,
Iar durerea era înscrisă pe suflet cu fier încins
Si, chiar daca trupu-i pierea intr-un foc de om aprins,
Om, ce aievea iubitei ii semăna izbitor,
El stia ca durerea nu dispare intr-un dor
Prinsă fiind intr-un suflet nemuritor.