My Life In Chinese Poem by Nicolae COANDE

There are gypsies in the heavens and a suspicion that poetry is now
A letter from thieves to thieves, a code for those who want
To conceal to the gentle people the presence of truth in the world.
Let us scold them for that and for everything that doesn't fit
With the wondrous magic that makes me be here now
And the one writing this bastard poem shall drink the glass
Of wine with you, falsifier of αγραφον. Beware of awakening!
Everything that doesn't suit me is my life in Chinese,
A droplet in which I wake up trapped every morning
When I ask for a cup of time's coffee. Its beautiful hands
Are all that can console me, yet they will hang me one day
Like in that painting by a master who held the sky in place
On his easel. A big rope descends, and on it, a gypsy
With a red flower in his teeth.
Who could resist Him?
(Translated from the Romanian by Emil Sîrbulescu)