SIMONA GRAZIA DIMA

Pe masa din bucatarie

Eu, pestele, ma aflu
pe masa din bucatarie.
Voi fi despicat, voi fi cina.
Pentru ca i am iubit pe speriatii acestia
ce se ridica n picioare cand ii intrebi
ceva, pe inteleptii ascunsi, care si
castiga traiul carand moloz, pe
mugurul pleznit peste chip
inainte de a nflori, fiindca
vorbeam printre fibrele
fatalului omertà, printre minti
inclestate n consemn,
vorbeam acolo unde se tace
si vocea mea era de om
si n avea voie. Ma vor taia,
sa raman peste.

Roxana Mandrican

Simona Grazia Dima
 

On the kitchen table

I, the fish, am
on the kitchen table.
I’ll be chopped for dinner.
Because I loved these cowards
who stand up when you ask them
a question, these disguised wise-men
who earn their living carrying debris,
the broken bud
which couldn’t blossom,
because I spoke inside the threads
of the hermaphrodite omerta,
inside those minds confined to silence,
I spoke in places where all are quiet,
my voice was human
and it shouldn’t have been so.
They will split me
so that I may remain a fish.