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■ I know what you're thinking, father
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- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - 2008-10-01 | [This text should be read in romana] | Submited by Cristian Vasiliu
La despărțire, irisul, spre minte
S-a reîntors și visul mi-l veghează; Juma'te-nchis, se străduie cuminte Să mai arunce-n juru-mi câte-o rază, Dar nu trimite inimii-mpietrite Conturul clar de aripi sau petale, Căci prinse-n zbor, obiectele grabite, Nu își găsesc în temniță tipare. E mult prea ascuțită sau senină Privirea mea și-n vietăți diforme Sau gingașe, prin beznă sau lumină, Încet icoana ta o s-o transforme. Prea plin de tine, adevăru-n minte L-am adunat dar ochiu-mi slab mă minte. Sonet CXIII de William Shakespeare Since I left you, mine eye is in my mind; And that which governs me to go about Doth part his function and is partly blind, Seems seeing, but effectually is out; For it no form delivers to the heart Of bird, of flower, or shape which it doth latch: Of his quick objects hath the mind no part, Nor his own vision holds what it doth catch; For if it see the rud'st or gentlest sight, The most sweet favour or deformed'st creature, The mountain or the sea, the day or night, The crow, or dove, it shapes them to your feature. Incapable of more, replete with you, My most true mind thus maketh mine eye untrue.
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