Florin Lacatus Poet Free verse

When I Grow Weary Even of My Last Name 1

There will come a day
when even the mirror
will lose its patience with my face.

I will leave my hands
upon the edge of the table
like two birds
that understood too late
the sky cannot be carried home.

I will grow weary
even of my last name,
even of the way
those who forgot me
still pronounce it.

Then
I will ask for no more miracles.

I will sit
beside the grass
that grows over the footsteps
of those who disappeared,
and I will listen
to God speaking
in the language of roots.

Perhaps death
is nothing more
than a door
that never creaks.

Perhaps life
was only the noise
we made
trying to open it.

Mother,
if you are there,
do not ask me
why I came so early.

I stayed behind
to gather a few words
that no one
was willing to keep.

I carried them
like warm loaves of bread
through a world
that fed itself
only on stones.

And if heaven itself
has no need of them,

I will bury them
beneath the first tree.

Perhaps one spring
they will bloom
instead of leaves.

And someone,
a child
who never knew my name,
will lift one of those words
and call it
home.

Then
I will be able to leave
without looking back.

Not because
I conquered the world,

but because,
at last,
the world
will no longer need
to conquer me.

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