Dan Enache Poet Free verse

The Violet Bird of Violence

The Violet Bird of Violence

The fragile glass stockings are here in the dark room—there would be room
for a few spiders weaving continuously their web of fine silk,
the sumptuous trays rich with white lace are brought—delicate old silk,
breasts in the transparent jars and in the warm and trembling hands
of the most beautiful women—the jellyfish sleep deeply floating in water
as in the quiet crater of the most asleep black stone volcano,
we will be on time for this meeting always awaited with impatience,
we will pass through the dark night as through a box with lit phosphorus.

At this meeting where our long and thin shadows await us
like worn shoes—old boots left on the rain-wet ground,
the delicate butterflies that will touch lightly our warm red blood,
all the forgotten gloves all the eyelids closed in deep sleep
that we liked to kiss with our warm and full lips,
all that we found for eternal memory—the long eternity of time,
the mouths that remained stuck to breasts like shining gold rings,
the green plants that grew on our faces during deep sleep.

The clear water in full glasses—the transparent shining crystal,
the hanged ones with chalk-white hands—their bones hard as stone,
in these black castles the dark evening twilight awaits us
and our chests of warm flesh will rub against its heavy silences,
our chests of soft cotton and dense darkness—the weight of the body,
the box filled with sad music of death breathing slowly awaits us,
the solid wax heads of women we haven't met
yet—always in the future in time that flows ceaselessly forward.

The thick curtains behind which we can hide in deep stillness,
the lost star of a distant morning awaits us shining,
the lucid gaze of sleepwalkers—their open eyes see everything clearly,
we slept so much that we lost the habit of quick and lively movement,
the violet bird of violence pecks us gently with its sharp fine beak,
its rapid flight through our room open toward the vast and great infinite,
and its melodious song resounds—the clear melody that fills the dense air,
in this dark night where everything dies slowly for eternity.

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