Since you betrayed me I am more becoming
A body’s carcass glowing in the dark
My fragile self, invisible, yet stark,
With frozen looks and body which is pining.
My wretched fingers can’t feel any more
My useless walk, is pining with desire…
My cruel stare invisible, yet sore –
The halo of my body still on fire.
Rendered in English by Constantin ROMAN,
© 2015 Copyright Constantin ROMAN, London
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The Riot
Syed FAIZAN
Upon the horizon a crowd of men,
Appears with Crosses, Swords, Trishuls; aloud
Invoke a ‘Christ’, a ‘Ram’, an ‘Allah’, then
They kill, rape, rob and burn; until a cloud
Răzmeriţa
Syed FAIZAN
Dar iată dintr-odat’ un pâlc străin
Agită cruci, pistoale şi-şi bat joc:
Iisus, Allah, sau Bud-auzi din plin…
Ucid şi pângăresc, iau pradă şi dau foc…
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Am vrut
chiar să mă bag în closet şi să trag lanţul ca să mă evacuez.
Mi-am băgat pumnul în gură şi am încercat să-mi smulg
esofagul. Mi-am închipuit, dacă îmi voi fi dat suflarea,
cugetul va fi acolo. Taraful a promis că vine
la şapte. Este chiar ora şapte.
I wanted to
push myself down the toilet and flush myself away.
I stuck my hand down my throat and tried to rip my
insides out. I thought if I let out all my breath
the mind would be over there. The band promised to call
by seven o’clock. It’s seven o’clock now.
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Tata aţipeşte la gura sobei,
după o săptămână de muncă.
Sigur – nu i-aşi putea mărturisi
că aici oamenii
îşi pun ştreangul la gât, unii altora?
Father dozes by the stove
after six days’ labour.
No–surely I can’t tell them
that people are at each
other’s throats.
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Return often and take me at night,
when the lips and the skin remember….
Revino adesea şi ia-mă la miezul nopţii,
când buzele şi pielea işi amintesc…
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Heberto Padilla
Out of the Game
The poet! Kick him out!
He has no business here.
He doesn’t play the game.
He never gets excited
Or speaks out clearly.
He never even sees the miracles.
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