The symphony of our drops / Poem by Irina Lucia Mihalca

Poem by Irina Lucia Mihalca

 

The symphony of our drops

You entered the story steeply, you feel the mystery
and its pulse that disarms you,
you tide your dreams to my heart,
grab them through it and bless its peace.
A stone you throw into the water’s silence, its sound
can lead you somewhere or elsewhere,
far and too close, never here or there,
everywhere and nowhere. An immeasurable ambitus!

Run and stay, a tonic circle of the quint,
go and go through the amplitudes of the worlds,
always sitting between them, in constant motion,
you throw yourself among the stars,
– a very disturbing fugue –
the breeze of heaven float among us,
lost in caress of words,
we are stunned by the storm of desires.
Ceres’s sickle cut you off
the whole spice field of fears.
You had no place, you could not hide,
you can not hide from yourself!

You are fascinated by the freedom of penetration,
our convention would be unlikely,
as though one and the same, even though
it changes every moment,
– the world in us and world from the dream-
you know just that I’ve gone somewhere,
But if we get there,
how and where, you ask.
Surprise unexpected states, new forms,
still unfiltered,
intimate octaves in the keyboard.
You do not think you are or if you are,
and then you do not know anymore who you are,
you stayed in my song,
identify rhythm,
you look at me and you die every single moment
at the thought of departing.
Your breath and mine together,
part of this stunning world,
a chanting paradise in this vibrant tempo!

You can hear the swollen river cry
and the shattered flowers that jam
in the breeze and moisture of the earth,
our fragrances throw us alive,
new agreements we build
at every stage of the whole tone.

We start gently in this symphony,
every chord touched,
enveloped in the arpeggio of hearts,
note by note, we plunge into the abyss,
at the edge of the dream we inhale the flame
and her torch burns the tear of the song
with the pain of the heart, but the soul
remains there,
harmoniously reveals the round word
of self-forgetting,
reveals the infinite, dissolving us.

Tumble, sensual reactions, bloating instincts,
living cells, the same rhythm, abandonment,
silence, release, completeness, eyes tell everything.
Which of us transposes these harmonies?

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