Powdered God.Drunk

Oh, how do you feel?
Oh, how do you kneel?

Si-s moartea. Si-s viata.
Ma-mbat cu tine, si mor. Exista
O arta a mortii? Ars moriendi?

When your tongue is heavy like stone,
Noboby will try to carry your bone.

Cumperi suveniruri: praf de Dumnezeu.

La razboi bufoni!

Joaca stropi de ploaie picand pe pomii plangatori
Produc un sunet aspru, de tobe de razboi
Se-anunta-o batalie, cati vor muri din nou?

O harca-n sant ‘ti zambeste, placandu-i moartea grava:
La lupta te imbarca, mori bravule bufon!

O lacrima iti pica, o lacrima cu sange
Pamantul o primeste, asteapta tot mai multe
Isi cheama lutul viu ‘napoi spre al sau trup;
Prea multa vreme voi fost-ati separati.

Multi in razboi veti ingrasa recolte,
Olarii trupul vi-l vor modela
Abandonati speranta ca-n veci veti exista!

Poezia este veche de cativa ani, cred ca am scris-o pe la 17 ani, intr-un moment in care eram scarbit de razboi si de ideile unora de a se avanta intr-o lupta in care nimeni nu stie cine-i cu adevarat dusmanul.

Opium

Opium… inhale… inhale the tender smoke
and chase
The dragon.
Fly over lands and seas, go all the way to China…
Come, find a soft girl and sleep in the poppy fields.
Make love with her and call again
The dragon.
Opium – what a beautiful chant!
It eases your pain,
On a plate it offers the transcendental sleep.

Exhale it and return to a putrid world?!
NO!! You want the freedom, don’t you?
Then take the freedom in your hands!

Inhale and let your lungs get
The sweet, warm touch of opium.