They have lived a stone life, a star life, a rat life,
tears wiped out by the Siberian wind, packages wrapped
in despair,
moved from prison to prison, from age to age.
We used to bury our people, carve a cross, play Mozart's Requiem,
they started a new era of solitude
and loss,
their corpses our trees, our roads,
tones of blood evaporating in the air we breathe,
corpses lost in the tide of all times, high tide
on our empty beach, the grave
we don't deserve, the thoughts we never thought.
Most of you don't even know why and for whom you are crying,
don't see their faces, don't hear their trumpets
when they happen to pass by your door.
"An ear, cut off, is listening.”
- Paul Celan
Stella Vinitchi Radulescu (20th century) Romania (lives in USA)
Source: UniVerse
thank you for this find
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