The Headless Bird
According to custom, the old people have shut me away
Not to scare me stupid when they killed the bird,
And I am listening by the bolted door
To the trampling and the struggle.
I twist the lock time has worn thin
To forget what I have heard, to get away
From this struggle where
The body races after the head.
And I jump when the eyes, thick with fear
Turn backwards, turn white,
They look like grains of maize,
The others come and peck at them.
I take the head in one hand, the rest in the other,
And when the weight grows too much I switch them
around
Until they are dead, so they are still connected
At least in this way, through my body.
But the head dies sooner,
As if the cut had not been properly done,
And so that the body does not struggle alone
I wait for death to reach it passing through me.
poem by Ileana Mălăncioiu, translated by Eiléan Ní Chuilleanáin
Added by Dan Costinaş
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