Wound (Ion Murgeanu) Poem by Paul Abucean

Splendor is not for me nor is glory
Nor wonderment nor the ever-erring rifle
Yet beauty remains an open wound
Nor the dawn of this whispered fountain
Nor the aspen nor the chasm I have crossed
Beholding the beaming foot of your shade
Yet beauty remains an open wound
Then I would return to press my mouth against it
Then I would feel what pain's shivers are like
In the pot radiant peonies dropping
The body of petals seized by heat seized by fear
Eternal well's night of sin
Neither remembrance nor glory remains
Cold lips still seeking hot lips
Yet beauty remains an open wound
A space open to imagination
Splendor its glory its wonderment its terror
Timeless time paceless echo aimless steps

(2010)

(Translated by Paul Abucean)