CorbUL / The Raven

CorbUL
Noapta era de vara, totusi era frig. Privirea strabatea oarba spre intinderea nelinistita a marii. Cazatoare, stelele se inecau in ea. Luna, diforma, se stingea printre valuri. Am desfacut pleoapele, nu vedeam nimic. Intind mainile spre orbite. Nimic. Pasari negre, tot mai mari, se rotesc. Umflate de hula, pene reci, plesnesc ritmic coo lentoare regulata rasfirandu-mi parul de pe frunte.

Duhoarea mORBida se apropia amortind vantul. Plaja era sufocata, sub ierburile negre, putrefacte: o forma incremenita. Aproape un cadavru. Mainile ii acopereau spasmodic fata, nu le puteam indeparta. Am muscat din ele pe rand cu metoda, stanga-dreapta. Sarat. Degetele grele, ascunse sub arcade, slabeau din inclestare cu fiecare impunsatura, facand loc viermilor. I-am descoperit fata, era El ? Timpul statea sa se sparga in urletele ce asupreau timpanele. Raspunsul nu se putea dezlipi de buzele arse, inundate de apa marii,...murmure...daimon? , nemuritor, dar rece. Cu voci sfasiate, corbii, ma cheama prevestind parca innemurirea cu vazduhul intunecat, bombardat de umbre. Inchid ochii, desfac aripile si ma inalt.


The Raven
It was a summer night, although it was cold. The eyes were straying blinded on the surface of the restless sea as falling stars were drowning in it. The shapeless moon was dissolving in the waves. I opened my eyes, yet I couldn't see anything. My hands reached out to my eyeballs. Again nothing. Black birds, closer and bigger, were flying all around. Cold feathers, inflated by the hollow sea, kept slowly but regularly striking, scattering the hair on my forehead.

The morbid stench was drawing nearer, drowsing the wind. The beach was stiffle. Under black, decomposed weeds there was a stone-still figure. Almost a corpse. His hands were spasmodically covering his face. I couldn't remove them. I bit them alternately and methodically: left and right. It tasted salty. His heavy fingers, hidden under the arches, were loosening with wish each push, macking way for the maggots. I uncovered his face. Who was It? The time was about to breake because of the howlings which were grinding the ear drums. The answer couldn't part from the burnt lips, fludded in sea watter...Whispers...Daimon? Immortal but cold. With excruciating voices, the ravens kept calling me, as if predicting the trascendence into dark horizons, shelled by shadows. I closed my eyes, spread my wings and depart up high.

leprosy