(homage To The Philosopher Emil Cioran) Poem by Horatiu Stamatin

I took one of the uncounted fire weapons of the Romanian literature and shot my shadow. Right into the very heart, a handful of grass burst into the air.
„Hold up don’t move! “ heard a voice.
Being a good obeyer I didn’t move. To that emptiness in the earth, a people of ants started to go ready to conquer it.
My God, an anthill is my heart, and I suffer this until the sun gets down and the silence falls, like a bride gown.