{"id":1926,"date":"2017-02-22T14:15:41","date_gmt":"2017-02-22T14:15:41","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/www.nymagazin.com\/?p=1926"},"modified":"2017-03-02T12:54:08","modified_gmt":"2017-03-02T12:54:08","slug":"liuba-botezatupoezie","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"http:\/\/www.nymagazin.com\/en_US\/liuba-botezatupoezie\/","title":{"rendered":"Liuba Botezatu\/poezie"},"content":{"rendered":"

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\"13619917_1056037011099255_5530166072854155018_n\"<\/p>\n

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Absen\u021b\u0103<\/strong><\/p>\n

Femeia ad\u00e2ncurilor privea absent\u0103 trec\u0103torii,
\ncuprinz\u00e2ndu-se de mil\u0103 pentru \u00eencercarea lor disperat\u0103
\nde a se prelinge pe sub mantia t\u0103cerii ei.
\nA \u00eenva\u021bat s\u0103 se ascund\u0103, renun\u021b\u00e2nd s\u0103 mai vibreze la jocurile
\ncopil\u0103re\u0219ti ale maimu\u021boilor din jungl\u0103, s\u0103-\u0219i mai aplece
\nurechea la \u0219uieratul \u0219erpilor, la zgomotul valurilor
\ndornice s\u0103-i pr\u0103bu\u0219easc\u0103 st\u00e2ncile dup\u0103 care \u0219i-a g\u0103sit ad\u0103post.
\nFemeia ad\u00e2ncurilor reintr\u0103 \u00een sine, contopindu-se cu lumina
\np\u0103m\u00e2ntului ei, \u00eencalzindu-se la flac\u0103ra lui c\u00e2t noaptea se mai
\n\u00eentindea peste lume.
\nOdat\u0103, c\u00e2ndva\u2026 o va g\u0103si lumin\u0103torul cel mare.<\/p>\n

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Apocalypses now<\/strong><\/p>\n

\u0219i dintr-o dat\u0103 dumnezeu
\na murit
\noase desprinz\u00e2ndu-se f\u0103r\u00e2me –
\npulbere alb\u0103 peste suflul rece
\n\u0219i gol
\nal de\u0219erturilor
\n\u00eentre mine \u0219i tu – c\u0103scate pr\u0103p\u0103stii
\nurl\u00e2nd luna cea plin\u0103
\nde ro\u0219u
\ns\u00e2nge cereau col\u021bii mei
\ns\u00e2nge
\n\u0219i moarte<\/p>\n

s\u0103 vin\u0103 sf\u00e2r\u0219itul<\/p>\n

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Catren al luminii din moarte<\/strong><\/p>\n

Melodia din tine m\u0103 cheam\u0103 ecou
\nMagnetic, lumina-\u021bi m\u0103-\u00eembie s\u0103 mor,
\nPetale-mi preschimbi \u00een aripi de flutur
\nSpre tine aspir, de tine m\u0103 scutur.<\/p>\n

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Poesis<\/strong><\/p>\n

\u00cen centrul universului era el \u0219i poezia lui
\ncu ele orbit\u00e2ndu-i \u00een jur ca ni\u0219te musculi\u021be be\u021bive,
\nunele din promisiunea iubirii poetice, altele din mil\u0103
\npentru aparen\u021ba scribului trist \u0219i singuratic,
\naltele din vanitatea femeii
\nde a se sim\u021bi o An\u0103 \u00een m\u0103n\u0103stirile lui \u00eenchipuite.
\nCine s\u0103 le spun\u0103, cine s\u0103 le poat\u0103 face s\u0103 \u00een\u021beleaga c\u0103
\n\u00een centru se afla doar el
\ncu cea mai frumoas\u0103 iubit\u0103 din toate universurile,
\nPoezia\u2026<\/p>\n

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\u0218tiam…<\/strong><\/p>\n

\u0218tiam demult
\ncum va sf\u00e2r\u0219i povestea
\nc-om vie\u021bui \u00een universuri paralele
\n\u0219i numai g\u00e2ndul unui vis de iarn\u0103
\nva trimite ve\u0219ti de cum exist
\nde cum mai e\u0219ti
\n\u00een r\u0103s\u0103rituri diferite
\nprin unde electromagnetice<\/p>\n

acolo unde
\nnu te mai a\u0219tept
\nacolo unde
\nnu m\u0103 mai a\u0219tep\u021bi<\/p>\n

\u0218tiam c\u0103 \u00eentre noi doar v\u00e2ntul
\nva z\u0103bovi s\u0103 mai \u00eenc\u00e2nte
\ncum c\u00e2nt\u0103 Eol
\nprin troiene de z\u0103pad\u0103
\n\u021bi-oi contempla povestea vie\u021bii-n rame
\ndesprins\u0103 din prezent
\nca pe-o legend\u0103 vie care nu-i a mea
\nc\u0103ci zboru-n infinit \u00eemi este cas\u0103
\n\u00een care loc nu \u0219i-a avut
\niubirea ta
\niubirea mea<\/p>\n

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Elementul lui Sunt<\/strong><\/p>\n

M-au \u00eentrebat cine sunt \u0219i nu am \u0219tiut s\u0103 le r\u0103spund,
\nc\u0103ci nu mi-am inventat un nume,
\nnumele meu s-a n\u0103scut din iubire mi-au spus
\nn\u0103sc\u0103torii mei,
\n\u00eensa nu mi-a fost de ajuns.
\nAtunci am privit c\u0103tre pietre, dar ele mi-au spus c\u0103
\nnu sunt dec\u00e2t un pumn de \u021bar\u00e2n\u0103,
\npraf \u0219i pulbere str\u00e2ns\u0103 de picioarele \u00eenainta\u0219ilor mei.
\nAm \u00eentrebat cerul, iar v\u0103zduhul mi-a spus c\u0103
\nnu-s dec\u00e2t suflare de v\u00e2nt peste imensitatea lumii.
\n\u00cen nop\u021bile reci am mers c\u0103tre ploi s\u0103 le-\u00eentreb
\nde, poate, cumva, am fi surori. Iar ele mi-au spus c\u0103 nici
\nploile nu-s ceea ce par s\u0103 fie \u00eentr-o mare pustie
\n\u0219i dac\u0103 ap\u0103 mi-e g\u00e2ndul \u00een albia lui, \u00een suflet port focul
\nce frige \u0219i arde p\u0103duri, destram\u0103 hotare, omoar\u0103 stihii.
\nCine e\u0219ti tu, copil de niciunde, departe de munte,
\nde mare, de verde, de soare? \u00centrebau p\u0103s\u0103rile cerului.
\nAu nu e\u0219ti vreo surat\u0103 pierdut\u0103 de c\u00e2rd? Unde \u021bi-e zborul?
\nOri e\u0219ti steau\u0103 de mare, ori stea c\u0103z\u0103toare, ori lun\u0103-n triunghi,
\nori soarele, leul, ori curcubeul?
\nAtunci le-am r\u0103spuns c\u0103 eu nu-s
\nnici steau\u0103 de mare, nici stea c\u0103z\u0103toare, nici lun\u0103-n triunghi, nici
\nsoarele, leul \u0219i nici curcubeul, nici focul, nici ploaia, nici cerul,
\nnici zarea, nici v\u00e2ntul \u0219i nici p\u0103m\u00e2ntul, de\u0219i \u021bar\u00e2n\u0103 mi-e g\u00e2ndul\u2026
\nSunt doar omul, nimicul \u0219i totul,
\nsunt con\u0219tiin\u021ba a tot \u0219i a toate din ziu\u0103 \u0219i noapte.
\n\u00cen mine port dorul, uitarea, iubirea, amorul
\n\u0219i ura, \u0219i hula, \u0219i zborul\u2026
\n\u00cen mine se plimb\u0103 Cezarul \u0219i robul, \u0219i orbul,
\ncutez\u0103torul \u0219i v\u0103z\u0103torul,
\n\u00cen mine Iisus alin\u0103 poporul, iar Iuda se vinde pe sine
\nde dragul iubirii de p\u00e2ine, \u00een mine b\u0103rbatul se lupt\u0103
\npentru ziua de m\u00e2ine, cucere\u0219te t\u0103r\u00e2muri,
\nfemeia rena\u0219te \u0219i na\u0219te,
\nse face iubire de pace, de semeni, de oameni,
\nde lume\u2026
\n\u0218i este, \u0219i sunt \u00een tot \u0219i \u00een toate fiin\u021ba, \u0219tiin\u021ba \u0219i ne\u0219tiin\u021ba,
\nf\u0103r\u00e2m\u0103 de con\u0219tiin\u021ba, lumin\u0103, o form\u0103 de g\u00e2nd,
\neter, ap\u0103, foc \u0219i p\u0103m\u00e2nt.<\/p>\n

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Blank space<\/strong><\/p>\n

\u0218i a spus Dumnezeu s\u0103 fie lini\u0219te,
\n\u0219i s-a f\u0103cut lini\u0219te \u00een ad\u00e2ncurile neumblate
\nale cugetului, numai t\u0103cerile mai aveau ecou
\n\u00een urma dansului dr\u0103cesc de-a ,,te iubesc\u2019\u2019,
\nstrecurate de buzele \u00eenmuiate \u00een miere pe limb\u0103
\nviclean\u0103 \u0219i trist\u0103 din proprie de\u0219ert\u0103ciune.<\/p>\n

R\u0103mas\u0103 cenu\u0219a se-a\u0219az\u0103 rotind pe note de Bach
\n\u00een c\u0103mar\u0103,
\nv\u00e2ntul r\u0103zle\u021b \u0219uier\u0103 molcom \u0219i trage s\u0103 moar\u0103.<\/strong><\/p>\n

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\u00cen numele meu (\u00eentre dou\u0103\u2026)<\/strong><\/p>\n

\u00cen p\u00e2ntecul meu port dou\u0103 femei,
\nobedien\u021ba \u0219i r\u0103zvr\u0103tirea, dorin\u021ba de a apar\u021bine
\ncelui ce st\u0103p\u00e2ne\u0219te lumea, m\u00e2n\u0103 \u00een m\u00e2n\u0103
\ncu nevoia acut\u0103 de libertatea de a-mi fi st\u0103p\u00e2n\u0103
\nmie \u00eens\u0103mi.
\nDou\u0103 femei nasc pe r\u00e2nd, am\u0103r\u00e2ndu-mi zilele,
\n\u00eendulcindu-mi nop\u021bile, hr\u0103nindu-mi demonii,
\n\u00eenl\u0103crim\u00e2ndu-mi
\n\u00eengerii.
\nDou\u0103 femei se \u021bin de m\u00e2ini pe cre\u0219tetul umbrei mele,
\ns\u0103p\u00e2ndu-mi galerii ad\u00e2nci \u00een inim\u0103 \u0219i-n suflet,
\np\u0103ruindu-se, iubindu-se, alin\u00e2ndu-se \u0219i ur\u00e2ndu-se.
\nLe \u00eembr\u0103\u021bi\u0219ez, cert\u00e2ndu-le \u00een frac\u021biuni de timpuri
\ndiferite,
\ncare se fac totuna \u00een acela\u0219i spa\u021biu de sim\u021bire.
\n\u00cen fiecare zi \u00eemi \u00eemprumut\u0103 din numele lor,
\nrevendic\u00e2ndu-\u0219i dreptul
\nla Iubire, dar eu,
\n\u00een lumea mea, pe r\u00e2nd, \u00eemi sunt \u0219i Ev\u0103, \u0219i Lilith,
\n\u0219i, totu\u0219i, \u021bie, eu nu-\u021bi pot fi niciuna\u2026<\/p>\n

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-selec\u021bie realizat\u0103 de Nu\u021ba Istrate Gangan-<\/em><\/p>\n

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\"13619917_1056037011099255_5530166072854155018_n\"
\n…<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":2,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":[],"categories":[1,28],"tags":[],"coauthors":[],"jetpack_featured_media_url":"","jetpack_sharing_enabled":true,"jetpack_shortlink":"https:\/\/wp.me\/p4rsGx-v4","_links":{"self":[{"href":"http:\/\/www.nymagazin.com\/en_US\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1926"}],"collection":[{"href":"http:\/\/www.nymagazin.com\/en_US\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"http:\/\/www.nymagazin.com\/en_US\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/www.nymagazin.com\/en_US\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/2"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/www.nymagazin.com\/en_US\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=1926"}],"version-history":[{"count":4,"href":"http:\/\/www.nymagazin.com\/en_US\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1926\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":1965,"href":"http:\/\/www.nymagazin.com\/en_US\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1926\/revisions\/1965"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"http:\/\/www.nymagazin.com\/en_US\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=1926"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/www.nymagazin.com\/en_US\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=1926"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/www.nymagazin.com\/en_US\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=1926"},{"taxonomy":"author","embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/www.nymagazin.com\/en_US\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/coauthors?post=1926"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}