It is too…

It is too early  to tell you that I am dead,
but the wind howls
and unspoken sky,
and the bells are ringing
from the earthquake The Globe
It is too soon to tell you that I am gone,
but the grass is dried
and the leaves are gone,
and the rains are crying
over the world all the time.
It is too much to know that I am disappearing,
but I don’t have flowers anymore
and you throb for nothing,
when the spines in shivers
banish the order.
It’s too early,
but not too late
and yet not too soon,
as long as I’m still writing
and I can speak my thought.

tr. M.R.M. Monica Rodica Muscalu


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