Maria Banus

Eighteen
 
Wet streets. It has rained drops big as silver coins,
gold in the sun.
My mind charges the world like a bull.
Today I am eighteen.
 
The good rain batters me with crazy thoughts.
Look. Drops are warm and slow
as when I was in a carriage, pinned tight
in diapers, drenched and unchanged for an hour.
 
Yes, it rained as tomorrow, in the past, always.
The heart scrapes through time, is one heart.
My temples beat stronger than temples of time.
 
Like a common bum I think of drinking life,
But I am burnt, even by the hot stream of its juices.
I am eighteen.

 
Translation from Romanian

 

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