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I think the only reason they call this a war still – is fear. Those of us who survive, we will never be the same because of it. Not us, not them, not the earth we all walk on, or the steel we make our weapons of.

Now, we do not fight any more, we just prepare and quell our fear. I believe something is at stake now that makes all our reasons to fight fade and seem meaningless.

I had another dream – I saw a child, a new born, being put on a scale and weighed, like they do in hospitals. I strived to recognize the child, and a very fast film of human faces rushed by my eyes. I woke up, still uncertain. I think I had a revelation, that, with me, the Universe woke up, equally uncertain of that child’s identity. I have an interpretation, if you’d like to read it: the child is de billions we were before the war. The boundless identity, the infinite chance to become anything.

We were all born like that, same size, same limbs. How spectacular the transformation into an athlete, a violinist, a steel worker, an astronaut. What tremendous power that child held.

And what we have lost. With each man who dies beside me, there’s a terrible question growing in my mind: are there enough of us to carry on? Not with war, but with life –

With all my love,

Mikhail Borodin
To Joconde Abraham, September, 7th

My love,

I’ve been having a dream, every once in a while, ever since we retreated from Moscow, two years ago. Ever since I left you behind.
It’s the image of a silent city, in ruins, smoking still. I am present as a spirit in another man’s body. I see what he sees and move with him. He comes out from an underground shelter and looks around, while his eyes become accustomed to the light of the sun. There’s a car crashed nearby, with the player still on, and a sound of old jazz. Behind the man there is a woman, I cannot see her because he doesn’t look at her, but he keeps talking to her, showing her things. They don’t seem to share my horror, beholding the charred city.
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Dear Joconde,

We returned safe and sound from the action, though, God is my witness, I went there as I go to sleep at night, putting my soul in His hands. We got plenty of ammo and most importantly food. I filled a cart with warm clothes and rallied a couple of cows to pull it back to camp. We hid them in a bear cave in the woods. The colonel said he used to hunt here and the bears don’t hibernate until late November. Hopefully we’ll be back to collect the clothes till then. He won’t let us eat the food yet though and we keep everything in a secure container, because he got it into his head that the mission was to easy, we didn’t meet the expected resistance, so it might be a trap, perhaps a locating device, or poison, or who knows what. I think they are just sick and tired of this war, but the colonel doesn’t listen to me.
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Dear Joconde,

It’s Mikhail, the boy you used to chase with a Chinese paper dragon, when we were kids. I write to you now – two years after me and Ivan went to war. One year has come to an end since he died.
Tomorrow, our division will be dropped for the seventh time behind enemy lines. This battle seems to never end. But I think the colonel has become desperate. We are out of ammo and out of clean water. If we don’t break through, we’ll be overrun. So, he told us, for the first time since I can’t remember, to write to someone dear and say what we need to say. And I write to you. Because I love you.
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autoportretul lui Pablo.

De fapt…
E un punct
Ce incetineste iarna.

Un univers
Care parcurge urmele zapezii sub pasii mei.

Pentru cei care citesc aceste randuri, cu dragoste, cu nadejde si cu credinta. Dar mai ales cu dragoste.
Pentru cei care ma indragesc si pentru cei care nu ma au la inima. Pentru oricine si-a atins vreodata haina de haina mea, privirea de privirea mea, mana de mana mea, buzele de buzele mele, sufletul de al meu, chiar de nu au stiut asta.
Pentru cei ce-mi vor rosti numele azi, cu bunatate sau cu rautate, in ziua lumii noastre Septembrie, doisprezece, la 2008 ani de la nasterea Mantuitorului, cu simplele noastre cunostinte astrologice. Dar fie si in alta zi, fiindca nu e dupa voia mea sa aleg timpul potrivit lucrurilor.
Pentru toti cei al caror nume nu-l stiu pentru a ii putea chema langa munte, sa asculte Predica.
Pentru toti cei pe care as fi dorit sa-i cunosc si pentru toti cei pe care as fi dorit sa-i pastrez. Pentru toti cei cu care ma voi intalni candva, intr-o alta viata, sau intr-o alta lume si voi face asa cum in aceasta viata si in aceasta lume nu am putut.
Pentru cei care au pasit inaintea mea si pentru cei din urma mea. Pentru cei care au visat sau au dorit ceva si in visul ori dorinta lor m-am aflat si eu.
Pentru cei ce au nevoie de rugaciune. Pentru cei ce si-o doresc sau nu.

Cititi. Ascultati. In taina, fara sa va stie nimeni.

Pater noster, qui es in caelis:
sanctificetur Nomen Tuum;
adveniat Regnum Tuum;
fiat voluntas Tua,
sicut in caelo, et in terra.
Panem nostrum cotidianum da nobis hodie;
et dimitte nobis debita nostra,
Sicut et nos dimittimus debitoribus nostris;
et ne nos inducas in tentationem;
sed libera nos a Malo.

One – „Politics”

‘Tis hurtful to have such a life
As poor I : to be born before my fathers
In caves with not a light or whisper
And then rejected as a fool –
Then once more hammered into might:
A sound for starvlings, in their slumber
To rise and steel their sickle arm
The best of animals to reign
Over the mild and peaceful farm.

Two – „Number twenty”

This is a game of numbers
For lumber counting beavers
In feverish condition.
Its mission is to lock
A line within a zero
Then add the title letter
(And there’s no laughing matter)
For, firmly as a rock
Of the Olympus falling,
I love the answer dearly
If it should find the answer.

Three – „Opposite from the beautiful queen”

Twinkle twinkle little star
How I wonder – is it far
To be half a world around
And so pretty on the ground
Folding on the slightest touch.

Carry swiftly all my faith
On the starry sky across
Lined around my loved one’s neck,
As a fairy, weary arm
Of the twinkling silver cross.

Four – „Among the people”

This place, that I want you to guess
Is where I created the world.
A grandmother to all of my people
A weaver to challenge the Gods
I live in metamorphoses.

And slowly, with patience, my place
I’ve built with noiseless wonder.

Five – „The foolish Ignis”

Oh she’s no fool, but with her light
I was left blind – and quite unseen
Guess who put fairy dust on me.
For that, you see – and for luck’s sake
Oh dear, I should pay a mere night
And for the five a’riddle here
Give me your hands, if we be friends,
And Robin shall restore amends.

If you were a cowboy I would be
The prairie, ‘round you, unfolding.

If you were a piece of wood, then I would be a stone
A safer place, alone, for you to sleep.

If you were a sailboat I would sail with you
The gentle waves that vanish when you’ve passed.

If you were a river I would hold you,
Under my breast of silk and air.

If you were a house I would fill your windows
With days you’ve never lived before.

If you were a preacher then, in years
I’d slowly turn to be your sky.

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Sunrise and Sunset The sun dawns, with lavender
And it sets, with sand –
Our faces, all colored in summer petals.

Litanie impotriva ranirii celor dragi

Eu sunt un caine.

Daca ma lovesti cu piciorul, ma voi abtine si voi marai: Mrrr rr ARRRrrrr. Nu esti suficient de puternic incat sa-mi provoci suferinta.

Daca ma ameninti, daca patrunzi in spatiul custii mele, voi face ce-mi e caineste posibil sa te avertizez.

Intai te voi latra vesel: Vaf! AfAFAF! RrrrrVaf! si voi da din coada. Astfel, iti voi spune ca ma bucur sa te vad si astept sa-mi ceri voie sa te las sa patrunzi mai departe.

Daca iti continui drumul, voi sta in fata ta, astfel ca orice pas mai departe va trebui sa treci peste mine.

Daca totusi nu te opresti, te voi trage cu grija de pantaloni, astfel incat sa intelegi ca nu vreau sa-ti fac nici un rau, dar ca am colti si sunt deja scosi.

Daca-mi esti dusman, urmatorul pas te va costa o muscatura zdravana. Daca-mi esti prieten, iti voi lasa locul meu. Va fi al tau. Daca-ti propusesei sa-l ocupi, al tau sa fie. Ai castigat, eu voi latra: Uaf! Af! Chiau! si voi pleca.

Voi falfai mereu din coada. Sunt un caine. Viata mea e usoara. Nu te astepta sa car dupa mine tot Universul.

one. this is for windwhisperer. i owe this riddle’s answer to her and i’m the ungrateful dirt on the back of a dog’s toes for not uttering it earlier. 🙂

‘tis but a simple spell
that every giver gets
for every welcome gift.
(it’s easy, oh, so easy,
and it will cause a smile).

two. this is for kalila. she thinks she’s good with numbers. 😉

add a third of our days
to the petals of an apple,
take out one, to end the counting:
just so many are the monkeys
playing catch-me on the tree –
though i’m tiny as a flea
and as fast as fast is measured.
now, a kanji cross of monkeys
leave my game to chase bananas;
if i tell you that those left are
half yours, half your lover’s
and each monkey makes a sign,
(a funny sign, that is)
tell me then, wise chronomancer:
which is your funny half of monkeys
and which is your lover’s?
and for a moment’s sake,
who the clock am I?

three. this is for when, anonymously, the moth met the spider. the noiseless, patient spider.

i’m a kid
who chases a dog
who chases a cat
who chases a bird
who chases a butterfly
who chases the smell of a flower
who chases the nose of a young girl
who chases a prince on a white horse
who chases a dragon
who chases an Olympian God
who chases an earthly prayer

and the prayer is mine.
who am i? – if I am the alpha and the omega, not the means to the end of the chase, but the chase itself, the purpose.

Darius sat down near the cherry tree in his garden. The old man looked at the falling petals and through them at the clear sky. He tried to pierce the blue shell of air, as the radio announced, on the background of a laborer’s march, that Youri Gagarin had braved the unknown and is now speaking from Earth’s orbit. Lucas, Darius’ youngest grandson was playing with a loud metal toy, picturing a space rocket. Two neighbors were arguing over the short fence, their two dogs barking at each other, in support. A fire truck siren started to wail and, as the sun reached the edge of the house and just threw the first rays at Darius, a V formation of storks speared over the waking city – and one of them broke from formation and headed towards the old nest, on top the charred chimney.

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Hello meh! Mi-am deschis si eu taraba de blog. K sa nu mai inrosim sarma de email, cand se vede vreun chain mail cu samanta de cearta, daca nu aveti cont pe wordpress ca sa postati direct, dati un semn aici cu incredere – il pun eu pe blog cat de curand.