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.

Florentina Yvonne Penciu

Simona Grazia Dima
 

On the kitchen table

I, the fish, find myself
on the kitchen table.
I’ll be chopped, for dinner.
For I loved these frightened people
who stand up when they are asked
something, the hidden wise men, who
make a living by carrying debris, on
the bud blew up in the face
before flourishing, for
I was talking among the fibers
of the fatal omerta, among minds
clenched in disposition,
I was talking where nobody talked
and my voice was human
and it ought not to have been. They’ll chop me,
to stay a fish.