Treasure Island

Stefan Alexandru Ciobanu

the child

the tower was shaped like a swan neck
the child was running stairs as if wound by someone from above
the light falling behind as a ball making pirouettes
the brick walls were warm as if someone had made love to them
he was enjoying to recline against the red wall
when jumping from one pace to another crushed by the echo of his footsteps
he was a genie let out of the lamp

outside the sun was murmuring like a long grass
in the middle of the round square
the sculptor was uncovering us from the stone surplus
we were skimming the leaves that were sticking to our yet undefined bodies
in our privacy we were hearing a boat being slapped by the water
and our hearts were flopping as if were chickens inside eggs
we were waiting for our eyelids to be carved

the horses were sleeping while standing up very close to the stars
the child was still running
the cobwebs were strongly embracing him
he felt their shoulders on his shoulders
there was also some love and something different
vegetal windows had begun to appear without him noticing
he was running
it was something mature about that child

people had pushed the tower to the town outskirts
many have chewed their palms doing this
were wearing wrinkles around their neck instead of cross
(sweet child)
watching the city fuss the synchronized turnings-over between the sheets
the mouths they were leaving on the plains next to the wrecks
the football games
oh god! the nocturne was brightening your shapes and I no longer needed anything
not even death

arrived on the terrace the child looked down to the tower which was twisting towards the foundation as a vineyard
he stretched out his arms so to embrace the whole horizon
he squeezed it like an accordion he put it in his pants pocket
where there still were some bread crumbs
and he stunted his eyes watching the stars

we were gazing into a fountain to see the water blooming
while the child was wandering around us in the air
even god has heard his laughter

transletded from romanian by Sultana Stan

Submitted: Wednesday, March 27, 2013

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  • Gajanan Mishra (3/27/2013 8:46:00 PM)

    I love this poem. Really a child is greater than a man in all respect. thanks.
    I invite you to read my poems and comment. (Report) Reply

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