![\"20987655_10211887748963959_340705120_n\"](\"http:\/\/www.nymagazin.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2017\/08\/20987655_10211887748963959_340705120_n.jpg\")
<\/p>\n<\/p>\n
Altundeva<\/strong> Grani\u0163ele, fluvii largi de durere. <\/p>\n Pe str\u0103zile \u00eentunecoase, <\/p>\n Baie de soare<\/strong> <\/p>\n Vinerea noaptea dorm foarte pu\u0163in. <\/p>\n V\u0103d at\u00e2tea \u00eentinderi sterpe <\/p>\n A f\u0103cut o mie de cutii din lemn de pin, Ast\u0103zi ploua la Santa Barbara. <\/p>\n Dar…<\/strong><\/p>\n <\/p>\n Ai vrut s\u0103 pleci! <\/p>\n Desert<\/strong><\/p>\n <\/p>\n Te a\u015ftept s\u0103 vii. De\u015ftept\u0103ri<\/strong><\/p>\n <\/p>\n \u00cemi vine \u00een minte, f\u0103r\u0103 s\u0103 vreau, <\/p>\n A\u015f vrea s\u0103 fii luna; Luna tace, <\/p>\n \u0162ii minte c\u00e2nd am venit prima oar\u0103? Mi-am luat juc\u0103riile \u0219i am plecat. <\/p>\n Lenea \u015fi-a pus zah\u0103r pudr\u0103 pe obraji, sub b\u0103rbie. Ceasul de\u015ftept\u0103tor url\u0103 ca un strigoi. Doar g\u00e2ndul mi-e treaz. <\/p>\n <\/p>\n selec\u021bie realizat\u0103 de Nu\u021ba Istrate Gangan<\/em> – NIG<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" Altundeva<\/strong>
\nCelor care au gustat dulce-amarul exil\u0103rii.<\/p>\n
\nDe pe maluri ne c\u0103ut\u0103m, ne chem\u0103m, \u00een zadar.
\nGrani\u0163ele, zidurile \u00eenchisorilor singuratice
\nCu m\u0103ri de pustiu \u00eemprejur.
\nGrani\u0163ele, zg\u00e2rieturi ad\u00e2nci pe fa\u0163a P\u0103m\u00e2ntului:
\nUrmele lacrimilor amare, s\u0103rate,
\nScurse din ochii celor tri\u015fti.
\nGrani\u0163ele ne \u00eemping \u00eenapoi du\u015fm\u0103noase;
\nS\u0103 nu ne cunoa\u015ftem, s\u0103 nu ne vedem, s\u0103 nu ne-auzim.
\nRupt de pe ram \u00eenainte de vreme,
\nFruct c\u0103zut \u00een gr\u0103din\u0103 str\u0103in\u0103,
\nM-am ofilit, m-am zb\u00e2rcit, m-am uscat.
\n\u00cemi lipseau ochii \u00een care \u015ftiam s\u0103 citesc,
\nDoinele, dansul \u00eenfocat.
\nZilele mi se p\u0103reau goale, pustiuri de timp
\n\u00cen care nu puteam s\u0103 stau, din care nu puteam s\u0103 ies.
\nAm str\u0103b\u0103tut drumurile p\u0103m\u00e2ntului,
\nAm dormit prin palate, prin g\u0103ri, prin metrouri,
\nAm citit c\u0103r\u0163ile lumii, mai vechi \u015fi mai noi,
\nAm b\u0103ut apa izvoarelor dulci ori amare,
\nAm respirat aerul mun\u0163ilor, de\u015fertului, m\u0103rilor.
\nAm r\u0103mas, iat\u0103, prin timp, un hibrid oarecare:
\nFiin\u0163\u0103 bizar\u0103, stropit\u0103 cu s\u00e2ngele str\u0103mo\u015filor,
\nTr\u0103ind \u00een p\u0103m\u00e2ntul gr\u0103dinii str\u0103ine \u00een care-am c\u0103zut.
\nCuvintele mi se amestec\u0103 \u00eentr-o limb\u0103 dur\u0103, ciudat\u0103,
\nRafale de flint\u0103 ruginit\u0103
\n\u00cen m\u00e2inile unui robot al Universului, exilat pe P\u0103m\u00e2nt.
\nM\u0103 privesc \u00een oglind\u0103 \u015fi \u00eentreb:
\n– Cine e\u015fti tu str\u0103ine, du\u015fmanule, prietene?
\n– Sunt creierul care adun\u0103 punctele cardinale.
\nSunt sufletul \u00een care zeii lumii vin la taifas.
\n\u00cemi trag seva din grani\u0163ele care seac\u0103 \u00eencet.
\nSunt omul bun, r\u0103u, al secolelor viitoare.<\/p>\n
\nAsincron<\/strong><\/p>\n
\nCu trotuare inundate de frunzele toamnei,
\nNum\u0103r\u0103m pa\u015fii
\nPe care-i mai avem de f\u0103cut \u00eentre noi.
\nEu num\u0103r destul de vioi,
\n\u015ei dac\u0103 nu ar trebui s\u0103 fim sincron
\nA\u015f fi ajuns demult la tine.
\nTu ai nesiguran\u0163\u0103 \u00een mi\u015fc\u0103ri;
\nAdesea ui\u0163i, \u015fi-ncepi s\u0103 numeri \u00eenapoi.
\nDin Martie, de c\u00e2nd am pornit,
\nAnotimpurile au fugit f\u0103r\u0103 noi,
\n\u015ei uite, e toamn\u0103,
\n\u015ei iarna ne calc\u0103 pe urme.
\nNe oprim la fiecare r\u0103scruce,
\nLa fiecare col\u0163, la fiecare banc\u0103;
\n\u015ei timpul curge.
\nEu am r\u0103bdare.
\nLovesc frunzele cu bombeul,
\nMai prind c\u00e2te-un strop \u00eentre pleoape,
\n\u015ei timpul curge;
\nDar am r\u0103bdare.
\nOdat\u0103 \u015fi-odat\u0103, tot vom ajunge.<\/p>\n
\nPentru A<\/p>\n
\nM\u0103 tot g\u00e2ndesc la bucuria din zori,
\nLa binecuv\u00e2ntarea palmelor calde
\nA\u015fezate pe obrazul aprins,
\nLa florile s\u00e2mbetei noastre.
\nNu! Nu se d\u0103r\u00e2m\u0103 templele.
\nNu cad ghivecele de pe balcoane.
\nVin zorii doar,
\n\u0218i soarele trop\u0103ie \u00een anticamer\u0103,
\nF\u0103r\u0103 s\u0103 mai aibe r\u0103bdare.
\n\u201eEi, acum e bine?
\nBun\u0103 diminea\u0163a, s\u00e2mb\u0103t\u0103 drag\u0103!\u201d<\/p>\n
\nCercuri pe nisip<\/strong><\/p>\n
\nArse de soare, uscate de v\u00e2nturi,
\n\u00centinderi nesf\u00e2r\u015fite din care via\u0163a s-a retras
\nC\u0103tre ultimele instan\u0163e.
\nNu am un loc al meu
\n\u00cen care s\u0103-mi plantez inima,
\nS\u0103 creasc\u0103 un pom, o p\u0103dure apoi.
\nVulturul \u00eenaltului,
\nCu ochii pistoale-nc\u0103rcate,
\nM\u0103 urm\u0103re\u015fte pe cerul fierbinte
\n\u00cenc\u0103 din zori;
\n\u00cemi d\u0103 t\u00e2rcoale, t\u00e2lhar t\u0103cut,
\nS\u0103 vad\u0103 unde voi c\u0103dea,
\nS\u0103 \u00eemi deschid\u0103 pieptul.
\nDar nu voi ceda!
\nVoi merge mai departe,
\nP\u00e2n\u0103 \u00eemi voi g\u0103si locul
\n\u00cen care s\u0103-mi \u00eengrop inima.
\nO voi uda cu restul de lacrimi.
\nDin ea va cre\u015fte un pom, o p\u0103dure apoi.
\nVulturul va zbura c\u0103tre alte patimi,
\nCronc\u0103nind ca un om.<\/p>\n
\nCutii fermecate<\/strong>
\n(Women Beyond Borders)<\/p>\n
\nMici altare, s\u0103 le po\u021bi umple cu apa din pumn.
\nLe-a trimis \u00een lume, miri desbr\u0103ca\u021bi.
\nLe-a \u00eencrustat pe frunte adresele,
\nS\u0103 \u0219tie unde s\u0103 se-ntoarc\u0103
\nDupa ce vor cutreiera continentele,
\n\u0218i-\u0219i vor fi \u00eent\u00e2lnit soarta, mirii, miresele.
\n\u00cen cutia ei, \u00eenchis\u0103 \u00een spa\u021biul str\u00e2mt,
\n\u0218i-a a\u0219ezat inima \u0219i, al\u0103turi, ca \u00een Arca lui Noe,
\nCelelalte p\u0103r\u021bi ale sufletului: ap\u0103, foc, aer, p\u0103m\u00e2nt,
\nS\u0103 vibreze-mpreun\u0103, s\u0103 nu le \u00eenece triste\u021bea,
\nS\u0103 se reg\u0103seasc\u0103 dincolo de timp.
\nZiua \u0219i noaptea, an dup\u0103 an,
\nCutiile s-au \u00eentors de unde-au plecat.
\nS-au \u00eentors fericite, triste, s\u0103race, bogate;
\nFiecare aducea cu sine o via\u021b\u0103, dou\u0103, mai multe;
\nUnele sigilate, capsule ale timpului,
\nAltele deschise, s\u0103 le cite\u0219ti \u00eentr-o singur\u0103 noapte.<\/p>\n
\nCutiile oglindesc \u00een apele Pacificului,
\nColorate, istoriile lor:
\nUn curcubeu viu ce \u00eenf\u0103\u0219oar\u0103 planeta
\nCa o simfonie a destinelor, ca un \u0219al al speran\u021bei.<\/p>\n
\nCa s\u0103 te conving s\u0103 r\u0103m\u00e2i,
\nMai apoi s\u0103 te conving s\u0103 te-ntorci,
\nA\u015f fi fost \u00een stare s\u0103 retez
\nV\u00e2rful celui mai \u00eenalt munte,
\n\u015ei s\u0103-l mut sub soare, altundeva.
\nPuteam s\u0103 forez \u00een minele diavolilor
\n\u015ei s\u0103 scot la lumin\u0103 pietrele \u00eentunecate,
\nOri diamantele str\u0103lucitoare.
\nA\u015f fi fost \u00een stare s\u0103 ucid,
\nOri s\u0103 ridic muribunzii din boal\u0103.
\nDar ce n-a\u015f fi putut face?
\nOric\u00e2te piedici ar fi fost, le-a\u015f fi trecut pe toate.
\nNu am \u00een\u0163eles \u00eens\u0103 c\u0103 nu e destul,
\nDec\u00e2t atunci c\u00e2nd mi-ai spus chiar tu,
\nInten\u0163ionat sau din gre\u015feal\u0103:
\n\u201eE\u015fti puternic \u015fi plin de voin\u0163\u0103, dragul meu,
\nDar \u00ee\u0163i lipse\u015fte mult, at\u00e2t de mult,
\nCa s\u0103 po\u0163i privi \u00een ochi,
\n\u0218i s\u0103 \u00een\u0163elegi, o petal\u0103!\u201d<\/p>\n
\nS\u0103 nu aduci nimic!
\nMai am ni\u015fte vin
\nDe data trecut\u0103,
\nCa\u0219caval afumat,
\nNi\u015fte nuci, o franzel\u0103,
\n\u015ei dou\u0103 scrumbii.
\nDesertul, ca de obicei:
\nMinciunile tale frumoase.<\/p>\n
\nZiua aceea c\u00e2nd am mers la cules:
\nFrumoas\u0103, cald\u0103, \u00een septembrie.
\nEra dup\u0103 ploaie.
\nO diminea\u0163\u0103 ca o \u00eembiere.
\n\u00cencurcat pu\u0163in, soarele ne-a z\u00e2mbit complice.
\nTu, mofturoas\u0103 ca de obicei:
\nC\u0103 nu, c\u0103-i prea devreme, c\u0103 las\u0103 pentru alt\u0103dat\u0103.
\nEu, care a\u015fteptam de-at\u00e2ta timp:
\nC\u0103 da, c\u0103 momentul a venit,
\nC\u0103 am semnele mele, metafizice.
\nNe-am plimbat pe colinele moi,
\nAm m\u00e2ncat struguri pe deal, printre flori.
\nNe-am ascuns \u00een tufi\u015furi \u0163epoase.
\nAm cules nuci,
\nLe-am spart \u00een din\u0163ii albi ca speran\u0163ele noastre.
\nT\u00e2rziu, \u00eenc\u0103rca\u0163i de noi, ne-am \u00eentors acas\u0103.
\nObosit, soarele p\u0103rta\u015f a cobor\u00e2t s\u0103 se culce.
\nDe pe obraz \u021bi-am \u015fters o lacrim\u0103 cald\u0103.
\nNu apucase s\u0103 se usuce.<\/p>\n
\nDincolo de zid<\/strong><\/p>\n
\nS\u0103 am la ce privi \u00een nop\u0163ile triste,
\nS\u0103 am cui povesti visele rele,
\nS\u0103 te urm\u0103resc \u00een dansul t\u0103u lent
\nPe cerul \u00eempu\u015fcat cu stele;
\nS\u0103 st\u0103m de vorb\u0103,
\nA\u015fa cum p\u0103l\u0103vr\u0103geam odat\u0103.
\nNici n-ai avea nevoie s\u0103 te machiezi prea mult.
\nPu\u0163in doar, ca s\u0103-\u0163i accentueze paloarea,
\n\u015ei s\u0103-\u0163i ascund\u0103 buzele frumoase.
\nChiar dac\u0103 vorbele mele s-ar pierde
\nZbur\u00e2nd prin eter,
\nChiar dac\u0103 vorbele tale
\nS-ar lovi de zidul impenetrabil
\nAl \u00eenghe\u0163atului vid,
\nTot ne-am putea \u00een\u0163elege;
\nDin priviri doar, din ar\u015fi\u0163a ochilor mei,
\nDin lumina ta alb-viorie, care m\u0103 m\u00e2ng\u00e2ie.<\/p>\n
\nAg\u0103\u0163at\u0103 \u00een v\u00e2rful ar\u0163arului care se t\u00e2nguie.<\/p>\n
\nFr\u00e2nturi<\/strong><\/p>\n
\nAi r\u0103mas \u00een\u0163epenit\u0103 \u00een u\u015f\u0103;
\nAbia am avut loc s\u0103 trec.
\nAi dat s\u0103 m\u0103 \u00eembr\u0103\u0163i\u015fezi.
\nMi-ai c\u0103lcat fularul lung, din greleal\u0103,
\n\u0218i era gata, gata, s\u0103-\u0163i cad la picioare.
\nDiminea\u0163a a venit ca un tren obosit.
\n\u0162in minte cum, mai apoi,
\nM\u0103 a\u015fteptai seara pe teras\u0103, cu o carte.
\nDin gr\u0103dini\u0163a c\u00e2t un decor,
\nTrandafirii \u00ee\u0163i ascundeau fa\u0163a cu umbre roz.
\nDe ce \u00ee\u0163i \u015ftergeai pe furi\u015f lacrimile de sub pleoape?
\n\u0218tiam doar, c\u00e2t ne-a mai r\u0103mas \u00eempreun\u0103.
\n\u015etiam \u015fi ziua \u015fi ora c\u00e2nd urma s\u0103 cobor.
\nAveai mereu la \u00eendem\u00e2n\u0103 un z\u00e2mbet ca o zi bun\u0103.
\nCe va fi fost \u00een sufletul t\u0103u de actor?<\/p>\n
\nDe fapt, g\u00e2ndurile \u0219i geamantanul din sc\u00e2nduri.
\nAcum ziua \u0219i noaptea rev\u0103d fotografiile cu tine,
\nA\u015fezate \u00een fi\u015fiere pe ani, pe locuri, pe sezoane,
\n\u00cen memoria din g\u00e2nduri, din scrum.
\n\u00ce\u0163i fac semne, t\u00e2mp, cu m\u00e2na tremur\u00e2nd\u0103,
\nDe dincolo, prin ecranul impenetrabil.
\nA\u015ftept, \u00eentr-o zi, s\u0103 m\u0103 cau\u0163i;
\nP\u00e2n\u0103 atunci \u00ee\u0163i z\u00e2mbesc, din an \u00een an mai b\u0103tr\u00e2n.<\/p>\n
\nLene<\/strong><\/p>\n
\n\u015ei-a pus miere pe buze, iar \u00een p\u0103r o floare de tei.
\nTrece somnoroas\u0103 pe la fiecare.
\nSe leag\u0103n\u0103 cu ochi languro\u015fi,
\nCreiona\u0163i cu moliciunea-nser\u0103rii.
\nMiorl\u0103ie t\u00e2nguit, \u00ee\u015fi cere scuze, \u00eembie.
\nSe ofer\u0103 ieftin, mireas\u0103 de doi lei.<\/p>\n
\nMi-e lene s\u0103-ntind m\u00e2na s\u0103-l opresc.
\nS-a f\u0103cut frig, tremur ca o piftie scoas\u0103 din beci.
\nMi-e lene s\u0103 m\u0103 scol, s\u0103-nchid fereastra,
\nParalizat sub plapum\u0103 ca o insect\u0103 pe lipici.
\nMi-e foame, dar mi-e lene s-ajung la frigider.
\nNici nu \u015ftiu de e plin ori de-i gol.<\/p>\n
\nCompune versuri de iubire.
\nDin lene, au ie\u015fit prea lungi \u0219i triste;
\nCa o zi ploioas\u0103 la Alcatraz.<\/p>\n<\/p>\n
\nCelor ca…<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":2,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":[],"categories":[30],"tags":[],"coauthors":[],"jetpack_featured_media_url":"","jetpack_sharing_enabled":true,"jetpack_shortlink":"https:\/\/wp.me\/p4rsGx-xt","_links":{"self":[{"href":"http:\/\/www.nymagazin.com\/en_US\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2075"}],"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=2075"}],"version-history":[{"count":2,"href":"http:\/\/www.nymagazin.com\/en_US\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2075\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":2078,"href":"http:\/\/www.nymagazin.com\/en_US\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2075\/revisions\/2078"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"http:\/\/www.nymagazin.com\/en_US\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=2075"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/www.nymagazin.com\/en_US\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=2075"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/www.nymagazin.com\/en_US\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=2075"},{"taxonomy":"author","embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/www.nymagazin.com\/en_US\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/coauthors?post=2075"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}