Banishment from poetry (V)

I see lights among the steam of my hands: the time has come to shout
with me under the bellies of the symbols.
Just as in my childhood when my mother had made me an ear out of wood,
she caressed me and said:

Take it and scream into it until it turns into a little girl!
Behold, I get back to my house and hear the prophets chuckling under the window.

short and thin like young ladies.
I lurk and giggle.
Madness sits at my work table. it raises its yellow eyes
out of my poems: –
Don’t be upset, I’m sitting at your table too,
I have what I have and leave!
It smiles wistfully.
It scratches the chair with its fingernail.
Now I want to shout into someone’s mouth even into the mouth of a deaf mute

Ion Mureșan

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