The statue [Statuia]
Your being nothing wants to let me hear:
Nor bad, nor good, nor bitter, nor sublime.
Your eyes as fine black mica do appear,
Which grace a statue's eye holes all the time.
My dreary gaze is crawling to your cheeks
Like does the sun when polar deserts scales
To freeze among the glaciated peaks
Stuck in its rays like in some pointed nails.
You didn't even guess I cared for thee,
Although my lust was boiling hot in me,
As waterfalls are boiling in their fits.
And my dear soul knocks at your frozen heart
Like someone who is far from being smart
And in an organ without keys now hits.
poem by Al. O. Teodoreanu, translated by Octavian Cocoş
Added by anonym
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