Ruxandra Cesereanu

Father

Father, writhing in my blood

are your emperor-killer’s dreams.

Night after night, how heavily the ancient terror

covers me in my carapace.

I’m cold now, and white,

over my eyes I feel a powder sifted from below.

Under the earth the pungency of roots splashes, spreads.

But don’t bark, don’t bark,

the soul will climb upwards toward me,

green and unripe.

Later, after I’m devoured by other animals,

their bites pierce me

like closed windows

through which I give a sign to you, crushed against the glass,

that I’ve been overwhelmed by loneliness.

I’m sitting behind the screen and sharpening my claws

to scratch at the door of the living.

I already feel a priceless blood flowing.

Father, your dreams plunge

in the mouth of a sewer,

where the animals wait for me.

My love will keep on decaying for ages and ages

until I’ve fallen among the roots.

My life is running in the pipe.

                                                                                    translated by

                                                                                    Adam J. Sorkin with the poet