Beginning of the Century by Dorina Brândusa Landén

In this part of the world there aren’t mismatches.
The king is returning from hunting.
The Prime Minister is dining.
I have catarrh.
My legs treading on snow
leave black traces on the diffusing white
like a war photograph
where all the dead are the young.
The air in your lungs burst
underwater bombs and my own body
became a deadly weapon
in line with the global trend
of self-destruction.
Happy mornings tumbled down
my life drops like a magic ball
in the world there is minus 38 degrees
and snow breaks the bowed branches.
From an immense geyser of ice
one can hear a vague vibration
as a distant hum of bumble bees
one can hear the too fast beating of the arteries
of those who live
under a law of its own collapse into nothingness.
Reindeers are crawling through the snow.
On the road the elk are hit by cars.
Selfishness
increases like a zygote of an enhanced race.
Candidates to government sneer
from a smattering wall poster
creditors are lurking around the corner
bread and honey aroma
thieves are stretching their cold tentacles
to steal your soul and money.
Shareholders investors
very rich people
overly benevolent
overwhelm us with an equivalent compassion
with our smothered desire.
Losers and bankrupts
failures
people with empty eyes like nests
driven by flocks of mist wander
on roads that lead nowhere.
I think of them as trees in the forests
where innocent wild beasts find death
woods percolated too much
by roots pulling up the sap
from bodies that have perished without a trace.
Suddenly angry blizzards fall
and wave the rolling seas
stormy Atlantic oceans
will cover us later
with the roar of the white foam kissing our faces
the uproar of the departures
towards the paradise where we’ll wake up
on resigned shores of countries that
we’ve forgotten how to serve
due to the mundane life - unbearable -
and to the maddening constraints.
Oh, many things are happening here
and beyond horizons the unfathomable vaults
indifference is strangling us
with braided straps of incantation
of those times when we were sharing
more shadow than light.
In the world we’ve created
there’s no more room between us.
We're doomed
in the anxiety of the beginning of the century
in the circle where we’re locked
me and you
all and sundry
never to leave it again.

http://www.best-poems.net/editors/1837