Mallarmé

Salut / Stéphane Mallarmé

 

Nimic, doar aceasta spuma, pur vers

Care nu-i decit semn al cupei ce-a fost:

asa de departe e trupa de sirene-necate ce se tot indeparteaza, venind.

 

Navigam, risipiti prieteni.

Eu – deja la pupa,

Voi – la prora fastuoasa ce desparte

torentul de fulgere si ierni.

 

O blinda betie ma-ndeamna

sa ridic iar cupa acestui salut

– si nu ma tem de vertij – :

 

singuratate, recif, stea –

luati-le voi,

cei purtati de pinza albita a aceleiasi griji

©notesandcounternotes

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