Rady Gyr

We will come back one day


We will come back one day
Come back… most surely
Gold sunsets there will be
As were when we departed.

Come back… most surely
As waters from the clouds
Or a tremolo, when the tune,
Long lost, returns to violin.

We will come back one day
You of today, with heavy walk
Will see us not and feel us not
Us slowly pouring into you.

We will come back like smoke
And holding hands, light weight
Yesterday’s all in today’s all
Fountains seep into fountains.

We – old, tiptoeing sneak
In all those love affairs anew
And in the song, which will be played
By all those coming from behind.

And in the smile that will emerge
And in the roaring wails to come
Still us, we will sit there
As seed amidst their mystery.

We, thought lost, return from skies
With our ancient, fecund soul
We will be back – in despair too
And in the wounds by bosoms hid.

In tears too or sweet caress
We will be flowing, every day
In what tomorrow, like today
Will bleed or will be blessed with love.




Sleep tight, mummy’s baby!  by Radu Gyr

Sleep tight, Mummy’s baby… no more
Nursery rhymes are left on this Earth…
The stories I’m not telling you – all
Are dead under the cry of the cannon.

Under tanks – hundred of years ago –
Sun and Moon – in the porch – also died
No whisper is left to caress you
And there’s no more milk left in my teats.

Because in this world now there are only
Wailing winds left – with their blow
And the hunger too – of your baby’s cot,
And Mummy’s crying – the deepest curse!

And the screech of the maddened chains
Hanging on Daddy’s ankles – in prison.
Sleep tight, Mummy’s baby, no more
Nursery rhymes are left on this Earth…

Flowers by Radu Gyr

Flowers… some crop up just to kiss you,
Prattling little pieces of gossip.
Others tiny, silly and mumbling
Have the deer’s deep, questioning eye.

Some of them sing… tell funny stories
Gracious, chatty tavern hostesses!
Flowers seemingly pinching the lute
Confess, in wanly crossing themselves…

Flowers shinning their nude bladed shine,
Flowers angel-cheek-long-eyelash-ed,
Flowers draped in breastplates and armors…

Flowers collapsed by tears and defeated,
Flowers scolding, defiant in your way,
Flowers forgiving when you bleed them…

Another one died... by Radu Gyr

Another one’s died…

Hunger on his face,

Mist in the eyes,

Hands of tobacco…

Another one’s died…

Of the cursed lot

Slowly fading out

All – one by one…

Three, six, eight, ten…

The haggard has died

So much the better

He’s free now to go…

All dreams of bile,

Of women’s bodies,

And of hominy will

Burn him no longer.

Ah… my good old God…

Caresses him dearly!

Dear comrades in death

I present you one more!

Oh, yes… let him leave!

Shut up – all of you!

He leaves behind a broth

And the cold bread loaf.