Ana Miruna Ioniță participates in the “Poetry” section of the International Literary Creation Competition, 4th edition, from Bucharest, Romania. Ana Miruna is 17 years old. We thank her for her participation and wish her success.
A Lady’s Sorrow It’s many days I’ve yet to live Until one comes when I won’t mourn A cavalier with stupid dreams To end him, as if never born. His courage, restless like his eyes Has pushed him far away from home - And from my reach, and from my heart; He’s left me in the fields war-torn. There’d be a moment spent askew When I would wailingly abhor His honor, and ambition too - His sacrifice I’d love to scorn! Endearing fool, now crowned with yew, Whatever is there left of you? A spade, a vow: blood on a thorn… And people will keep passing on But none to rattle my own core - What core? I have no core no more! The skies forget... and keep their blues While eyes like mine just fade to dirt - The dirt where they have buried you! Of new events and magic nights The minstrels sing forevermore; But of my cavalier long-gone, There’s not a soul to chant of you, There’s not a soul to cry no more! Our Sun Today, my little brother asked me Of the origins of the sun, And for I never really wanted To seem too smart and spoil his fun, I tried to tell him a new story Of how a giant with one eye Who had no place on Earth to go Decided he deserved the sky. He built a ladder from tall trees, Old pines and redwood towering, And started climbing, up so high (The feeling was empowering), Till his hands reached by sheer luck A coarse, odd piece of ashen rock That seemed to be flying amok. He grasped this bouncy comet, quick, And let the ladder go. Oh, it felt dreadful, it felt sick, The way his head began to spin When the speed began to grow! His wail was heard by eldritch stars And ancient gods of night, While both his shoes began to smoke And moons like silver scimitars Were flashing in his eyes. His sweaty hands were holding tight, For falling was no option; But his left shoe was not held so, And fled, oh, cowering in fright, Into deep space, with an eruption Of flaming gas and waves of shock Sky’s never seen before. (Or maybe has, but has forgotten - Will surely forget no more.) And so he cried: ‘My shoe ablaze, dignity gone, In this vast place I burn and freeze! You gods of space and silver stars, Is there no soul to rescue me?’ And he was heard, but heard by whom! Old prankster - Alphard, by his name - Decided to rescue the fool Who tried to climb the sky at noon. He picked the giant from his race As if he were a feather, And laughing with his mighty face, Put him back on the ladder: ‘You see your shoe, still burning bright Like Tyger in the night? That could have been you whole by now, Haven’t I been so quick to act And stop your cosmic flow! Alas, I am not here to brag, So better you climb down Back on your Earth and find a place, A cosy spot on ground To safely dream your foolish dreams Of taking our sky! And so you don’t forget your deed, I’ll cast a little spell: Your shoe, mid-air, still burning bright Forever will be giving light, As long as Earth can tell.’ ‘And that’s our Sun’, I proudly said, A shoe that’s still exploding; I looked into my brother’s eyes That sparked with joy and gleamed with doubt… He couldn’t refrain doubting! But I knew best, for my left shoe Is still nowhere to find; And Alphard, powerful as then, Still rules by Hydra’s side. Porcelain faces All people wear masks, at times one or two, but most have twelve or forty of them stacked round their nose, caressing their pores: Masks to cover their thoughts and masks for their looks, their dreams, their frights, dark bags beneath bright eyes, from nights lost in lovesick thinking, and nights of self-contempt. I could take masks off all day, and all of the night, I could call my boss, feigning a sickness of some sort for a week, for a fortnight, and use all the time to methodically search for my face, underneath these scabs and beautiful peels. To flay my cheeks, to count and polish them: I wouldn’t be done within an year. Hang on. I tried. Come look around. And marvel at the crooks I found: Here, now! A liar, and a poet, A valiant failure, honest workers, a happy man, a woman - weary, a dog, a dragon, an old fairy; a bastard and a sleeping bore, mistakes, and falsehoods, and some more. Some faces I have used before. I safely tucked them in, for keeping; the cheerful, fearful, and the weeping, the ones I love or use for work, the wicked angels and kind jerks, the trusting and the ones I trust, the honest, ugly, all the past, the friend, the fool, the genius too. A face I found resembles you. Ah, give me one more month for seeking! Come later, when I finish digging.