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.

Mihaela Nita

Simona Grazia Dima
 

Fire armor

It was the fire we feared, in it we lost our powerlessness.
Always mindful – we wondered of what: of the flame,
of the burning ship (but we shrunk from saying),
of the blaze which could seize us any time,
from anyone. With a cup in our hands, we knew
a phoenix might come, and we could jump on its back.
Burned, we could be the invincible knights. From the beginning,
there is no armor. As through mist its veins appear,
how the angel wing is outlining before the beseeching.
And only after the fire the afternoon heat begins,
the burning after the burning. The jolly conflagration, the happy burn,
the flame’s roar of laughter. By the old volcano the children find
blue anemones. Shouting, they step on the clasp
beneath which the flames blink merrily, yet slumberless.