Truck

3 Poems by Flavia Cosma

The Ailing Grass

                                    Hemmed

With yellow leaflets fallen from the sky,

The ailing grass awaits

Both winter and death.

You ought to know, my beloved,

Autumn is here already,

The signs are heavy, nothing seems beautiful anymore,

Neither the tears, nor the flower,

Nor the picture on the wall.

All things sift through the sieve of profound sleep;

Stifling dreams shatter in a cold sweat;

Life’s threads lay tangled, torn,

Fruits swollen with late mists rain down;

Rats with long rabbit ears

Hide under our armpits, in our hair,

And a cat’s eyes,

Seized by a great disappointment

Stagger on sea waves

Meowing.

The paper virgin

Locks herself in her room,

Weeping,

Cursing.

                                    The Body’s Mysteries

                                    Wings carry me lightly

To places where

Aroused blue tempests whirl.

                                    Here, explosions occur—

Heavenly bodies made of cold, drenched gold 

Give birth in agony to stars.

A hand writes the Divine Will

With ink from the depths.

Yet something has changed at the body’s gates:

On the pavement, in the street, drunks skirmish,

The uproar attracts the curious—

The Earth’s drumbeats writhe in our ears,

closer and closer.

Rarely do I glance

Towards the gates of the soul,

The very place where, once

Peace, an empress, reigned,

Young angels, laughing impishly,       

Caroused with the lint of clouds.

The falling snow

Buried them alive;

Not a single prayer comes down from Heaven anymore.

The vaults don’t ring with song.

Crouched in a corner

The guard stays alone,

Mute and ready to scuttle away.

                                  

                                    Let’s Divide the World…

                                    Ugly, feathered apparitions.

Heaps of memories blackened by time.

Shrieking crows rushing into void,

Nefarious prophecies frightening

Those timid shadows of evening.

Yet not everything was deadly,

There were lights too,

Mantles of soft gold, embroidered over sleepless nights,

Sweet scented flowers, a fool’s happiness,

A smiling child braving his destiny,

Tranquil, colorful sunsets,

And the dog in the garden,

Dutifully sleeping

In the shade of yellow flowers.

Let’s divide the world into halves:

You take what’s embodied in pairs,

Leave for me a solitary soul,

A blade of grass, humid shores,

And free, rebellious waves;

Allow me a Lebanese cedar,

Stubbornly tethered to rocks,

Orphaned stars and the moon

—a rusty scythe—  

Always weeping after the sun

On the sky’s vault.

        Flavia Cosma http://www.flaviacosma.com is an award winning Romania
        born Canadian poet, author and translator residing in Toronto, Canada, Flavia 
        has published twenty-three books of poetry, a novel, a travel    memoir and five 
        children's books. She is the Director of the International Writers' and Artists' 
        Residency, Val David, Quebec, Canada and of The International Biannual 
        Poetry and Arts Festival of Val-David. http://www.flaviacosma.com/Val_David.html