i listened to him reading
without understanding a thing from the thread of sounds,
but the rhythm of his reading voice was something particular,
fluent, unhindered by the mélange of letters
from which, for others, sprang meanings.
the bunch of sounds carrying out his love
didn’t need to touch more than
that soft core of mine, subject to ethereal fractures,
called soul.
lost in the long line of words,
chained to one another with a disarming naturalness,
i was seeking almost with thirst the places where i felt him
weaving with even more persistence
his light –
and when i found those my eyes became radiant,
feeling the treasures in his voice.
above all meanings and words
his voice was poetry.

written after accidentally listening to Nikola Madžirov reading out loud his poetry in Macedonian

originally written in Romanian

One Response to “above”
  1. yelena says:

    this is so moving, dear Lily~

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