Something like prayer

by Marin Sorescu

I don’t know what’s the matter with me,
for I don’t sleep when I’m asleep.
I don’t know what’s the matter with me,
for I am not awake,
when I’m on a vigil.

I don’t know what’s the matter with me,
for I don’t get anywhere
when I walk.

I don’t know what’s the matter with me,
for standing in one place
I am remotely away.

Lord, from what kind of clay
did You take me in Your warm hands,
and by what kind of saliva
did You brake and puddle my clay?

That I don’t know what’s the matter with me,
for I exist,
I don’t know what’s the matter with me,
for I have nothing,
but You.

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