RIK WILKINSON

Heavy Cloud

Flying at night in heavy cloud,
I am searching for a metaphor
for something as old as joy, as old as guilt.

Light breaks in from below.
I see an ocean. One could look back
for fifty years – and succumb to nostalgia,
the sickness of Time – travelers.

The radio is silent, my neural
Instruments malfunction.

I scan the waves for a signal
but there is nothing.

Nothing but a spark –

A candle burning on a dark star.

Florentina Yvonne Penciu

Rik Wilkinson
 

Nor Greoi


Zburand noaptea pe un nor greoi,
Caut o metafora
pentru ceva la fel de vechi ca veselia, la fel de vechi ca vinovatia.

Lumina tasneste inauntru de undeva de dedesubt.
Vad un ocean. Oricine ar putea sa priveasca in urma
cu cincizeci de ani – si sa cada prada melancoliei,
maladia calatorilor in Timp.

Radioul tace, instrumentele mele
Neurale sunt defecte.
Scanez undele pentru un semnal
dar nu e nimic de gasit.

Nimic altceva decat o scanteiere –

O lumanare arzind pe o stea neagra.