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in this issue
Marin Sorescu
The Case
Your Honour,
As I was returning home,
From the War, as a volunteer,
They killed my Time.
Then I noticed, the Time being amputated
Of its heart, mouth and forehead.
Still, they will not leave it in peace.
So they condemned it to further painyears, tearyears, Robotyears, donkeyyears
And a host of other things
Of no value to it.
They started turned it into a guinea pig
Testing all kinds of poisons
Like sadness and misfortune
Or such like names.
The fatal blow came when it was hit on the head
With a piece of hardwood destiny.
Pardon the expression, Your Honour,
This was no life!
Since then I have even forfeited half of death
Waiting for my turn in the queue
To make my case to Your Honour,
Here,
At the Last Judgement.
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