It's a chance happening of my being
and then the happiness inside me gets
stronger than me, than my bones, which you squeeze
in an ever painful, ever wonderful embrace.
Let us have a chat, let us talk, let us say
long, glassy words, like chisels tearing apart
the cold river in the hot delta,
day from night, basalt from basalt.
Take me, oh bliss, upwards, and smash
my temple against the stars, until
my prolonged and endless world becomes
a column or something else
much sooner and much higher still.
How good that you are, what an awe that I am!
Two different songs, hitting each other,
blending, two colors that have never seen one another,
one very low, turned to the ground,
one very high, almost broken in
the frantic struggle beyond compare
of the chance that I am, of the wonder you're there.
Translator: Vasile Andreica
see more poems written by: Nichita Stănescu
