by Nichita Stanescu

It is a happening of my being:
so then, the happiness inside of me
is stronger than me,  stronger than my bones,
that you gnash perpetually in an embrace
always painful, wonderful always.

Let us talk, let’s talk, let us say words,
long and glassy, like chisels that separate
the cold river from the hot delta,
day from night, basalt from basalt.

Happiness, take me up high, and crush
my temple in the stars, until when
my very long and endless world
turns into column or something else,
much higher, and much sooner.

It’s so good that you exist, what a wonder that I exist!
Two different songs, clashing, mixing,
two colors that have never seen each other,
one very low, bent towards the earth,
one very high, almost off,
in the feverish incomparable fight
of the wonder that you exist, of the accident that I exist.


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