The Wall and the Violin

Turn my heart into a violin

on your shoulder and

let your long tears

a bow

to give birth from doina to my

love,

our lost child,

ever

running from one chest to another,

mixing the scent of cherries

of the living room from there

with the smoke of incense

of the kitchen from here,

ever

giggling that the world has no walls anyway and

dancing

convinced it's playing a relay race

between the rooms

of a single house

of a single Home

ours,

mine and yours

alike,

to which not even he understands

why you become a wall

against it.

* * *

Sometimes it's not how we want it,

(isn't it)?!

Sometimes our walls

become the rock

from which ricochets

rejected

refused

revoked

the sung embrace

by His violin.

Ana Bănică