Miriam Cihodariu

Meteorite-gaze hitting the horizon and curving it towards the inside, like a circle curved towards you from all around, a distance that squeezes and presses, the lid that unravels you and leaves

To be a philosopher means to sit on a carousel and watch the way underneath, in the dust, the other sit in a round motion, without getting anywhere, to gaze at the blue sky above that they

Because I own a heart extremely flammable I filter carefully all that can reach it, therefore I am blind. Why didn\'t I see you from the beginning? Looking at you, I feel I know you better

For so long I\'ve been afraid to smile, for I knew my face would stretch like dead soil. Now I dare! The smile goes numb but the emotion clings to me like a wet T-shirt, a phenomena so

If we tossed a dream towards the heavens with the first cosmic speed they say it would become a natural satellite of Earth. And yet… what if the thrown dream would break the skies and it would

My thoughts – they slide towards you, but it is not my fault, it is the Coriolis force, for you stand at my right. Anyway, I wish you would stay there, although we bare the same omen and we

My head is not wooden, as you may think, nor my heart is stony; still, my feet are on the ground. In the stony cave, along the wood burning in the earthly oven, stood thinking the first man of

A midget was giving around tickets with time written on them, on mere chance, and we found ourselves hopped on in the carrousel of hopes riding on illusions, fulfillments or cold dreams. The

A sun-god in a hurry filled my life today with such a waste of light! What if tomorrow evening will come and the darkness shall calm down any laughter-scream piercing the sand? Maybe the

I’m afraid, and the beasts come alive around me, and the girl in the mirror looks at me ironical and provoking. The circle is tightening and everything seems against to me, I feel that something

Wild horses with red hair like the ground they firmly step on in primal cascades… …seek the minerals, for only returning to the essences to feed on them can they be saved from

I’m leaving To squeeze my mourning - the essence is overflowing in the fruit – on the old ground, and heavy and black, the land of promise, and my sap shall blossom Something. Does it

\"I was born from a dream\", our grandchildren will say, reading from the book of dreams our visionary past, all adding their own dreams, each of them the mightier, and the wind shall browse

A man’s aura around him seems to absorb him pulling his hair in all directions: “Come away with me, miscast yourself into abstract!” It tries to assimilate you, to decompose you in

Something glitters nice at your feet, a snake that covers you and seems to lay on you a beautiful shining layer, and your skin seems to thicken. He embraces you, climbs higher and higher, and

To get yourself lost in a cat-eyed darkness like in a black moving sand, that fills the sounds in your neck, the air in your lungs, the dignity in your ego, the humanity in your instinct, the

The mirrors are spinning around faster and faster, stop it, stop it! Who’s coming out of the mirror? Go back, go back! Where did the fog come from? Who are you? Who am I? The light is

I\'m not asleep I have to tell about fireplaces with attached toys for kittens, about windows with mistletoe flowers, about lullabies, that made you sleepy... Telling about things fallen

He told me: writing is a way to slow down thinking, to drawing primitively the face of faceless beings, the fingers of pure touching- the one that was before the creation of fingers and

I told the night: Do not die yet, maybe from your blood I will grow flowers on the tomb that I don\'t have yet. The night said back: Do not cry yet, maybe from your crying I will grow sorrows