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.