Illusion Of Shape It is a waste of feelings like a thread of light by which are hanging the clouds in the grass the instant in a flower the astonishment of an absence in a continuous floating in this long wait of a circle through the smoke in the mirror the soft fever in the windows slips through the thoughts when the amazement of the acacia trees flows on streets ragged by oblivion when your voice rolls in the wandering of the city the loneliness of a field burning in the poppies of the hour the wandering of the letters in the butterflies the vortex of a bottomless dimension sheds on hands the pollen of death an eyelid of silence over the world and candles of leaves in the agony of the color when you find yourself in the wandering shadows in a telluric sleep when the night roots chaotically grow into an angel’s tear an undefeated illusion of shape gathers you dust in the struggle of a poem The Equation Of Forgetting An echo slipped through the fence of thoughts is dragging the path of a winter outlined in the armor of shadows, crucified like a blind bird a dream is bleeding pierced by a frozen silence your footsteps engrave stars on the same road where Ashaverus lost in the iris of the sky the sleep of an uncertain hour you snatch yourself from mirrors milled in the night rolling on your lips the clocks of the city fell silent lost in the twilight burning ghostly under an eyelid of tears and sin, insinuates itself the smile of the wax figures into the equation of forgetting, there are just words kneeling on the shore of hope asking the love for forgiveness. The Words Are Burning Shards of the trembling stars hit the face of the night the fingers of darkness cast dusts of dreams melancholy herbs are touching a transparent harp in the wounded air breaks into tears a sadness spinnings a bell of stars and the roses, silky lips in love, are casting a kiss on the forehead of the years in the blizzard of oblivion. Light flashings of glass are struggling under the living sole of the serpent hiding its face in the rainbow, the snow falls tediously over the country roads wandered in the litany of a forever gone winter, the cold in the eye strikes the hunger in the empty spaces, the horizon carnival melts in the shadows of the stone trees, farther and farther gets the fountain of the sun, darkens the heart as it tries to breathe, why does the silence in the word no longer find its ending, why is the silence of the eye lost in the insomnia of a point... I am thirsty for more light and the window is closing in me and I am slipping only my mouth releases the pain from the floor and awakened I am by the voice of earth hypnotically murmuring my name, at night it is only flowing over a city of paper my cry, a white sheet lights up and the words are burning on a musical scale unleashing the echo of a fallen sky.
PUIU ALICE –MIHAELA, born November 2, 1962, Bucharest, Romania, an aviation engineer by profession, she writes out of passion for the word, for the dream called poetry. She has published seven volumes of poems in Romanian, a volume of poems translated into French, another volume of poems translated into English and two lyrical novels. She participated in many poetry anthologies and literary magazines. She is currently working on a new novel “Loneliness from an instruction not to use “. She recently published the volume of poems “City insomnia”
Confessions 