Poems in Winter, Flavia Cosma [well read books TXT] 📗

/> I find myself always warm
In the laps of pine trees, ruffled, green,
Even when winter with its elongated fingers,
Descends forcefully from the clouds,
The tears of Saint Anthony
Weep unbroken on the drained faces,
And the world trembles
from its foundation.

Away from fear I roll and fall asleep
In nests of pine trees, sweetly scented,
Soft shadows enwrap me with much care
In the warmth of a mother,
In a warmth of a brother,
In the misty warmth
Of a lover.


Leaves of a Diary 35


The snowfall seizes us, traps
With a cold and humid soft cloth,
And like an unseen spider
Wraps us up in a graying shroud;
Fastened molecules in icy spheres
Under great billows, a divine jail,
That, from distances,
Seems white, pure,
A vast, shining appearance.


Leaves of a Diary 37

They have told us that, toward the evening,
The moon will disappear
Among snow banks and speeding cars,
That its place will be assumed
By modest artificial lights.
Puzzled, we wander
Among the bluish, giant buildings
that hunt harmony in the depths;
The wind freezes tears on the soft corners of eyelashes,
Frost reddens our faces;
Overwhelmed by anxiety, we lay waiting
For dark signs on the sky.

We scent in the air a beamed breath,
Fortifying, everlasting like a rustle on the plain,
A breath, omni powerful and blue,
A new spring, like the springs
Of which, tenderly,
Our grandparents reminisced.


Leaves of a Diary 38


How You managed to wither me, Lord with the frost!
What did You give me to drink, what wormwood wine,
So that I forgot the fiery thirst,
The hot thigh,
The smile?

How will I be able to receive
Your gifts, Lord,
Now that the warm sun,
After many winters,
Mounts the hill?


Leaves of a Diary 40


When love moves on
A beam on traveling horizons,
From the starless vault
A pale angel disappears.

We bury him gently in a fairy tale’s leaves
And look forward to find him again, a loner
In the perpetual march of mirrored worlds,
When walking barefoot through slurry snow,
We will have to tell him the truth
About the terrible, ill-fated occurrence;
How we unwillingly left him to die
And then how we, emptied archangels,
Fell out of Heaven.


Leaves of a Diary 41


Let me sprout
In a slim furrow under heavy snow,
Where it is still cold outside,
With warring winds,
But where I like your world,
Its fortressed walls.

Branches and sighs,
Whitened by winter,
Release themselves again
To the mercy of divine whispers.

Colors of soft cloth
Welcome me through the doorway,
One half cries, another waits.
I alone hurry to freedom
And the harsh, fleshy green
Surrounds me as clothes and love.


Imprint

Publication Date: 01-26-2010

All Rights Reserved