“She had always wanted words, she loved them; grew up on them.
Words gave her clarity, brought reason, shape.”
― Michael Ondaatje, The English Patient
Pe urme dor, pe praguri zis
Cuvinte-mi pâlpâie a vis
Ca moi petale strânse-n floare,
Și viu polen arzând a soare
Cu raze pieptănându-mi gândul
Și versuri ascultându-și rândul,
Le iau și le culeg fiorul,
Le mângâi și le dărui zborul
Căci aripile de cuvânt
N-așteaptă ceas,
N-apucă scris…
Sondeaz-adâncuri în abis,
Aduc lumini de paradis
On ways of clouds, of having said
Words softly flicker like a thread,
Pulsing like petals in a bun
or magic pollen deeply spun
With golden rays combing my thoughts
And burning verse tangled in knots,
I take them, words, and pick their flutter
Like anxious lips ready to utter
For often so, the wings of words
Cannot feel time,
Cannot do this…
They deeply dive in the abyss,
They bring about heaven’s bliss
Nic🌸le
Lovely! „the wings of words” This is a marvellous phrase!
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It sounds very nice in Romanian too, and.. lucky that in English it is also an allteration in „w”. Happy you like it too, thank you!
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„Pulsing like petals in a bun” I like this part very much, a joyful jump of contained energy. The flowers play very well with the poem. Grateful for the poem, Nicole : )
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Thank you, Francis. Words, photo, music… they all form a lovely circle to me. 💫
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