The blood of
the jail
by Radu Gyr
The Roots
last night
when blind were sleeping the dens
I stayed
among trunks lengthened on all fours
and when the
dens were heavily sleeping
I’ve
listened how the roots spoke
down about
the dead from deep darks
one was
speaking I grow from he chick
of a brave
man full of glories in battles
now I suck
his arms chest chick
undefeated
he was impetuous and fiery the brave
how sweet
are his sucked eyelids
another was
saying ferocious I sip from the lips
of those
dearest and whitest sweetheart
o how many
drunk like me today her lips
how many
picked her snows and hot ashes
how mighty I
bite her orbits
and the
third one was whispering I grow from a forehead
the forehead
of dead poet was my food
I mount
leaves and branches from his bitter forehead
but my
leaves can defy the age
with their
earthly flame
At last
judgment
chased
through foul swamps
like a rabid
beast
with pierced
temples with deep orbits
with bites
of winds on back
torn like a
flag invaded by gangrene
tired up by
whips like the rogue
thus I will
arrive to the Supreme Judgment
my blood to
soil your azure
clearly
you’ll shine under boreal snows
violet/blue
of wounds I’ll come in front of you
you’ll stay
cold in the frost of Thy glory
I with
sorrow will be burning hot
Thy look
will be iced sword
when Thy
voice from the abyss will grow
man go on
speak
o Thy great
judgment
then I will
fall on the high steps
on lips with
a bloody inert smile
for all my
unjust wounds
God I do
forgive Thou
Be raised you
George be raised you John
not for a
shovel of redden bread
not for
barns not for acres
but for your
free air of tomorrow
be raised
you George be raised you John
for the
blood of your people flowed in ditches
for the tear
of your sun nailed in spikes
for the song
of your people in chains
be raised
you George be raised you John
not for the
anger gnashed in teeth
but to stock
shouting on plains
a stack of
shins and a busby of stars
be raised
you George be raised you John
so as to
drink the freedom from buckets
and in it to
sink as the sky in whirlpools
and its
apricot trees over you to shake
be raised
you George be raised you John
to set all
your hot kiss
on porches
on thresholds on doors on icons
on all free
things seeing your forehead
be raised
you George be raised you John
be raised
you John on chains on ropes
be raised
you George on saint bones
up toward
light after storm
be raised
you George be raised you John
Last night Jesus
last night
Jesus has entered my cell
o my how sad
how tall Christ was
the moon has
entered after him the cell
and was
making him taller and sadder
his hands
looked like lilies on graves
his eyes as
deep as forests
the moon was
beating his cloths with silver
silvering on
his hands old breaches
I raised
from under gray blanket
God where
from are you coming from which age
Jesus driven
softly a finger on mouth
and made me
a sign to keep silent
he stayed
near me on door mat
put your
hand on my wounds
on ankles
shadows of wounds and rust he had
as if he had
carried chains sometime
sighing he
lengthened his tired bones
on my mat
with cockroaches
through
sleep the light and thick bars
drew out
rods on his snow
the cell
seemed mountain seemed skull
and it
swarmed with louses and rats
I felt my
temple falling on my head
and I slept
thousand years
when I
awaken from terrible abyss
the straws
smelt like roses
I was in the
cell and it was moon
only Jesus
was nowhere
I lengthened
my arms nobody silence
I asked the
wall no answer
only
cold rays sharpened in corners
with their
lance thrust me
where are
you God I howled at bars
from moon
smoke of censers came
I touched
myself and on my hands
I found the
traces of his nails
The son of
woman thief
in the
women’s pavilion over night
gnashing one
of thieves has delivered
the moon
issued its breasts full of milk
and wanted
to take the babe in its arms
all the
other thieves hurried
to wrap up
the baby in an old had kerchief
mice in
corners chatted what to gnaw
outside
stars walked on tall stilts
spiders
moved down on strings to see the confined
heavily the
tub stank beyond door
the night at
bars detached from a button its blouse
the thieves
sang in wishes you lass be living your lad
and you
smiled in bad reeking room
babe of doom
offspring of thief
this smile
you’ll take with you in life
or will you
drag only sigh like a chain at feet
tomorrow son
of whore will call you some
others would
remember you were born beyond bars
sprawling on
earth by moons yellow blizzard
you’ll not
know the name of your father
perhaps
you’ll also be thief like your mother tomorrow
your knife
will hit in a night with hood
perhaps for
rings or only for a bread
the greedy
prison will suck you
or perhaps
you’ll be like a cherry tree at Whitsuntide
young and
full of fruits
you’ll fish
from your oceans the corals
and you’d
like to pass over age on big viaducts
and perhaps
you’d like everywhere to partition to devote
to bind even
wounds of stars in other realms
you will
face the light to shaken it
its heavy
gold to fall in everybody’s fists
and then
they’ll say the same look at thief’s son
they’ll put
like to your mothr the red iron on forehead
and in
chains and on all fours would bring you to the cruel jail
to make
yourself beast hate and mist
Ulysses’
return
in front
table I stay with myrtle at templates
but I sleep
since long under Troy’s walls
the guests
laugh and fill up their goblet
they drink
with dead and honor the ghosts
I have
remained under Troy’s walls
and with my
dead fellows on sea’s bottom
fat rams and
bulls redden
vainly in
broaches perfumes
I sleep
since long under Troy’s walls
or rot under
algae with rowers
returned to
home as do return the ghosts
of those who
are not coming on their steps
you finger
me on shoulders on cloths
persuaded
that I came back
but I am
only hundred of graves
in the
corpse walking among you
you tell me
about temples with pillars
about new
gods grown in my absence
I fable you
on my blue dead
remained
under Troy or in seas of slag
and death
not words have on mouth
at my court
bards vie to come
to sing of
me like of all heroes
how their
song is it to me devoted
in my honor
is the quiet harp sighing
I sleep
since long under Troy’s walls
only shadows
listen to them and the ghosts
oils with
deep smell of flower
don’t wash
Troy’s blood on my corpse
for beyond
any bathing
I carry dear
dead on me as plaster
I have
remained under Troy’s walls
and when on
Penelope’s warm breasts
Ilet
forehead in deep hot shelter
I bleed
still in wrestles with Cyclops
or I wander
on seas with bones
with eager
uninterrupted kisses
the woman
caresses at random
on chest on
arms the wounds from battles
believing
their trace doesn’t pain me more
but I am all
an unseen wound
and wounds
are my dim empty eyes
my woman or
my dead kiss me
came in bed
from under Troy’s walls
I sleep
since long under Troy’s walls
again I’m
lost with mariners in waves
I start
again the battles with ghosts
I slide from
woman’s thighs
and bury
again under Troy’s walls
I have
remained under Troy’s walls
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