! while she gave birth to me,
mom, laid on a table,
suffered awfully,
my good mother laid on
a table:
yet, up on the other,
there smiled Death, my mother,
naked, stretching out there, she smiled,
so beautiful looking
my mother, Death, laid
there, she smiled,
for I was to be born her child
with no suffering on her part!
Translator: Vasile Andreica
see more poems written by: Cezar Ivănescu
