Jivinele care populează acest
teritoriu
sunt niște ”huinele”
țiganizate, puternic
jidovificate, stratificate
acoperite
de sunete gângăvite, pocite,
sucite,
încâlcite, purtătoare de venin,
au sânge, dar nu știu să-l
poarte
sunt primejdioși imprevizibili
își croiesc făgaș pe pământ și
lasă
o urmă băloasă de melc și fug
prin Mărăcini, numai prin
Mărăcini
și lasă un făgaș gol și întortocheat
care rănește picioarele la
huinelele
ce vin din urmă care tot n-au
simțăminte.
***
The man without God
is a piece of trash – the water
takes him away
The Rumanians, unwashed first-class
mankurts
reading isn’t really their thing
are slow
on the uptake and you have to give
them
the pre-chewed morsel in a huff,
tired, they
wrinkle up their nose when
someone is
heading for them with a gold book
where
they are shown that the enemy
comes to love
them: for you, cretin, she enshrouds
you
in a tepid sentiment, this book
is written
and they make grimaces as if they
have
got earrings put in and the
sadness hangs
them in disgust. “You are mad
there’s no
greater horror than the books.
All the writers
be hanged upside down in the
water closets!”
And they have blocked the
printing,
they have blocked the access to
the bookstores,
they chased away the writers who
don’t kiss
the Sodomites with Sodom’s
propaganda
on their ass they sent them to
rats’ catching,
the state appointed paid henchmen
to annihilate the ones who don’t
write
formal books. For you,
fatherland,
shit rains down on you from the
high
pleura. All the mankurts seem to
have
urinated but the Tirtans put
earrings
on them and count their steps
within funeral sounds.
The ghetto of the Rumanians
crammed
with hood rats, trapped in the
nets
of the libidinous spiders from
the West
is maddeningly gyrating as in the
centrifuge
of a uranium enrichment facility
their weight, their blood, their scream
are imbued with radioactive ash
they are
sprinkled with camphor and blood
from the mines. Spiders with long
paws
grasp them by the belly and fertilize
them
so that they seem to be descended
from plutonium. From the Rumanian
substance will emerge the most
terrible bomb.
***
Rumânu-i nație de CIORȚI
la porțile infernului
umblă unul după altul
să-și taie pleoapele, au toate
calitățile bestiilor scârboase
și nu se spală, se împreunează
cu animalele și-și jertfesc
copiii lui Moloh și-nainte-i
violează; duc o viață simplă,
crudă, aproape de pământ
se grăbesc să-și gâdile călăul
și iadul lor iar se veselește
gângav.
***
The cannibalistic minister
with harsh voice and harsh
garments
ironic eyes has a doll’s face.
To whom may he be useful?
He certifies what?
***
The jackal from seraglio
as swollen as a tiger
in the blossoming month of May
with his heart full of blood
he will stay smoking lying
down in the paradise
and bombs will fall on him
like the warm May cherries
then the lights will go out.
