Poem Of Love (By Mariana Marin) Poem by Lucia Stefanovici

You started to hate
even the fact that I still breath, too.


Even my little madness of evening
such harmless in this wilderness of country.

What an unconsciousness, I tell to myself,
to want to kill hour by hour
something that not you raised it,
not you looked after the sweet-bitter pneumonia
what a courage to believe
that you can destroy something more
from a lost animal
among even more desolate verbs
but with spiny fur on wound
or from a refuse-collector dream
let testament
to the former anarchists…