SIMONA GRAZIA DIMA

Armura de foc

De foc ne temeam, in foc ne am pierdut neputinta.
Mereu atenti – ne intrebam la ce: la flacara,
la nava incendiara (dar ne sfiam sa spunem),
la flama care ne putea rapi oricand,
de orisiunde. Cu potirul in maini, stiam
ca putea s apara un phoenix, sa i sarim in spinare.
Arsi, sa fim cavalerii invincibili. Dintru nceput,
nu exista armura. Ca din ceata i apar vinele,
cum se schiteaza aripa de inger in fata rugatorului.
Si abia dupa incendiu incepe dogoarea amiezii,
arderea dupa ardere. Parjolul vesel, arsura fericita,
hohotul flacarii. Pe vechiul vulcan, copiii afla
anemone albastre. Strigand, ei calca pe copca
sub care clipesc, glumete, dar treze, vapaile.

Roxana Mandrican

Simona Grazia Dima
 

The fire armor

We’re afraid of fire, the fire burned our weakness.
Always heedful- of what, we wandered: of the flame,
of the fiery ship (but we didn’t dare answer),
of the flame which could ravish us anytime,
anywhere. Holding the cup in our hands, we knew
a phoenix might appear, and we could hop on its back.
Burned, we can be the invincible knights. In the beginning,
there was no armor. It emerged out of fog,
the angel wing came into being before the praying man.
The afternoon heat gathers way only after the fire,
it burns over and over. The blithe disaster, the beaming fire,
the explosion of the flame. On the old volcano the children
pick blue anemones. Crying, they walk on the hook
which hides the jesting, yet sleepless flames.