SIMONA GRAZIA DIMA

Armura de foc

De foc ne temeam, in foc ne am pierdut neputinta.
Mereu atenti – ne intrebam la ce: la flacara,
la nava incendiara (dar ne sfiam sa spunem),
la flama care ne putea rapi oricand,
de orisiunde. Cu potirul in maini, stiam
ca putea s apara un phoenix, sa i sarim in spinare.
Arsi, sa fim cavalerii invincibili. Dintru nceput,
nu exista armura. Ca din ceata i apar vinele,
cum se schiteaza aripa de inger in fata rugatorului.
Si abia dupa incendiu incepe dogoarea amiezii,
arderea dupa ardere. Parjolul vesel, arsura fericita,
hohotul flacarii. Pe vechiul vulcan, copiii afla
anemone albastre. Strigand, ei calca pe copca
sub care clipesc, glumete, dar treze, vapaile.

Eliza Pintilie

Simona Grazia Dima
 

Fire shield

It was fire we feared, it’s in fire where we lost our helplessness.
Always alert – wondering why: watching out for the flame,
for the burning vessel (but we were afraid to say it),
for the flame that could snatch us at any time,
from any place. The chalice in hand, we knew
a phoenix may appear, and we would jump on its back.
Burned, so we may be invincible knights. From the onset,
there was no shield. As from fog, its veins come forth,
its angel wing appears before the beseecher.
And only after the fire does the midday scorching heat commence,
one burning after another. The lively parch, the blissful burn,
the roar of the flame. On the old volcano, children find
blue wind flowers. Crying out, they step on the gap
beneath which blazes twinkle, in jest, but awake.