Instead of postcard from Lisbon

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)