the boat

among silver poppies
floated a boat that carried towards the city
the shadows.
all the fears of the world together
weren’t worth the root of the word
that had been cut down and from which had been carved
that wonderful boat.
the shadows were red and on their delicate stems
some unknown beings had grafted syllables from other times,
letting them grow like some magical spindle,
braiding among themselves and learning about the present time.
poppies though, still poppies,
even if silver ones –
they had filled the air around with opium,
slowing down the boat and hardening its gliding
among their flowers.
the shadows within, bending over the edge,
touched themselves against the sweetish and dense air,
and the red in them started to be
sometimes pink, sometimes green, sometimes not at all,
either losing some syllable,
or falling asleep amidst giggles and mumbles.
the boat, now fully stopped in the poppy field,
completely forgot its use
and heard no more the murmurs of the very word from which it had been made –
which word, eventually, became mute itself.
and all remained like that, from that present until our present.
if someone will ever pass by there,
they would see a wonderful boat, stopped among silver poppies,
from which, now and then,
some shadow of an undefined colour peeps its head
only to go back inside, giggling,
while, at the base of the boat’s stern,
the word of which the boat is made
is gently snoring.
 

© 2014 Liliana Negoi

originally written in Romanian

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