To read this creation in another language, request a translation by clicking the “Google Translate ” widget.

Andra-Astrid Belibou is participating in the 5th International Literary Creation Competition from Constanța, Romania and is 29 years old. We thank for the participation and wish her success.

Ruins

My body is my temple
Adorned with jewellery 
And soft fabrics
No graffiti allowed
So decided by the false rulers
Because what’s mine
Is not truly owned by me

My body is my temple
Always washed
Hydrated in cherry blossom
Sunkissed at times
But not too much
Darkness is filthy
So whispered by the sightseers

My body is my temple
It’s exotic yet dull
It’s too big yet too small
It’s tarnished by scars
Purplish turned white cracks
Abused over and over again
By its biggest admirer



Date

There’s no enemy greater
To the clock than the calendar
Hours and minutes and seconds
Nothing compared to the dread
Of years and months and days

First date – counting moments
Seconds of genuine laughter
Minutes of shy silence
Hours together, walking on the beach
Days counting till meeting again

Due date – counting moments
Seconds for the line to colour
Weeks of growth inside me
Years of heavy responsibility
Months of grieving tears

Expiration date – counting moments
Seconds of cold eye rolling
Hours of crying at your rejection
Days of not existing for one another
Minutes of humiliation and abuse



Cold

I’m sitting on the sofa
Hearing your voice from the other room
Wearing your loose black T-shirt
Quiet as a mouse, hugging my knees
It’s cold and it’s not just my feet
The purple and white living room
It doesn’t feel like home
And I see myself young again
Hands and feet cold too
Layers and layers and fire in the stove
Liquid ice running clean
My bed – Snow White’s crystal coffin
I’ll also lay dead-like soon
As I hear his footsteps
He’s back and ready to break me
I gulp and fake a smile, nodding
Am I really cold or just scared?