I hide myself somewhere under six
bridges
into the blue eyes of Porto seagulls
I hide me from a life
across a whole Europe
where is a great Eiffel stretched,
across the river,
long formulas of the wind and flight
I hid me in my childhood again
not to worry when I'm dreaming about
you.
I hide my look in the clam of the
ocean,
I hide my name in quartz stone
on the Square Lisbon
I hid myself to forget who am I
That I'll be back,
flying like a Peter Pan
I hide in the pockets my hands
blue from a longing,
from footwarn sky, from elongated
for an embrace which binds me,
I hid myself from your palm,
from the terrible tenderness with
which
you fear the stars.
I hid me in some Parisian evening
among conceited painters on Notre Dame,
and I roam, roam
pretending that wandering
is more important to me
than delirium of thoughts,
where you are, what do you dream
walking on the same dreamy stripes
where we could say everything
to someone our,
everything what we crave
and what we don’t know
to say just by the five fingers
infinitely sincerely until tears,
until stars
when the tears as the coins
in a fountain of desire
believe in future happiness.
I hide me in a secret tenderness of
Moldavian rains
I hide me from the Sun on your cheeks
I hide me not to think
about the airplanes without wings,
about the trains without rails,
about the days when we will all
forget,
for who we were most wanted
somewhere
whose I had been, and whose you were
under some ancient limes
to whom we the most beautiful
babbled
was it
to great imagination or to great
future?
I hide me in a fear
of runaway does,
faraway in some ancient Romanian
forest
I hid me because we are so close
to the secret of unselfish, insane
love
almost same between Romeo and
Juliet,
hidden on the place
where the light own star first met
and I dream where the happiest star
goes,
dreaming then night when the all
trains stopped
to let the time to pass by,
from mine to your eye.
I hide myself in a poem
with two gentle, quiet figures
poem which doesn’t mean anything
without childish smile
I hid me because of feared luck
cause we have too easily found each
other
of the all lost migratory birds
I hide me to not see
your big eyes full of meaning
to not see my blindness
between my confusion and your
eyelashes
warm of the imagination,
to not feel that I am glued by the
air
on the gold butterflies
of your sticky dress of summer
from the gentle whispers, from the
wet eyes
full of summer’s sky.
I hid me in the little house of
cricket
in the green grass of August,
when the most beautiful stars
are falling in baby’s eyes wet,
I hide me cause I fear
that your parents didn’t wish you
strongly
same as I have wished you,
until this year when you are born
in my eyes,
I hide me, cause I fear
of my fear own
when I see these ancient manners
in your fingers which are touching
my face,
in a way which I saw just at movie
stars
in Cinema, in a way
as
they’re searching on me,
some secret of two of us.
I hide me a little bit under three
bridges
over the Danube
little bit in some wires
of Banat tambourines
a little bit awkwardly in a distance
a little bit tearfully
for something divine, but tired in
us,
I stop nearby Vardin’s clock
and I think
It s enough of hiding,
But again I hide me
only behind my conceived hands
because a little bit, secretly I
understand
it's just a love is strong enough
that from vagabond and adult man,
make a gentle, timid kid again.
And then,
I hide me in front of you
only behind my bare hands
I hid cheeks red from embarrassment
cause more beautiful and more
courageous
I do not know how
to show you how really much I love
this secret
which connects the edges of our look
by power and madness
of biggest comets
which leave own paths hugging the
new space.
She flipped my secrets as the Little Prince book,
In one afternoon
between the falling stars and lilt birds
she was flickering as shaky wings wanted of freedom,
As a small silence which starts a big things
as a frightened smile after the first kiss.
dedicat R. Birgaoanu
(I wanted to be delicate poppy flower
Shake my love petals over your soul,
I wanted t be a bird with feathers of tears,
the voice of love, missed flight
I wanted to be a love as never was ... I wanted...
But neither mac nor bird, nor dream
I'm just a man with the soul of man)
