àudio Cristian: Four words
Half in dreams, an angel
appears before me and tempts me :
write, make a poem.
I want to get him off my back,
I want to sleep the sleep of the just,
or the sleep of sinners.
I don’t care which. I want to sleep.
But he insists.
Here you are, he says: four words:
world, country, language, love.
And he adds: I’ve almost
written the poem for you.
I tell him: if I write word,
I’ll be forced to add on
Disasters, famine and wars.
If I write country, I’ll be entering
the crazy territory
of human essence and plantoms.
And if I write language, d’you see?
Grief breaks my heart.
I can write nothing more.
And he tells me: just you write love
for the world and for country
and for this language
that is dying and which breaks your heart:
you will see that you can still
make this one and a thousand poems.