Mã viziteazã tot mai rar

I'm being visited more and more seldom

Respiratia -

By respiration.

Nu mai respir - deci nu mai scriu

I can't breathe anymore -so I can't write therefore, I live no more.

Prin urmare nu mai trãiesc.

And here I ask:

Si acum întreb:

The portion of my air I did not breathe

Portia mea de aer - rãmasã

(Since I was gone before the deadline)

(Cã m-am dus înainte de vreme)

Is it worth anything?

Foloseste la ceva?

At least it could be given to the poor

Mãcar sã se fi împãrtit la sãraci

(If this were possible)

(Dacã ar fi posibil)

But this is such an absurd parsimony

Dar e o economie de neînteles

Of Nothingness.

A neantului -

And further on:

Si mai departe:

The thoughts I left unwritten

Ce mai aveam eu de scris

By whom will they be finished? Since grains of sand are not alike

Cine va scrie? Cã nici firele de nisip

How could a new pen different from mine

Nu seamãnã unul cu altul

Resume the thread exactly from the point I ceased?

Ce panã sã se înnoade exact

La firul meu început?

And I had just discovered

A handful of great subjects, themes.

Si tocmai cãzusem

I had already improvised - and it did work - my style

Pe-o minã de subiecte, teme grozave -

Who is the one who will decode my notes

Îmi încropisem - zbârnâia - stilul

Which I could never organize?

Sau mãcar cine îmi va întelege notele

Pe care n-am reusit sã le pun în ordine?

Is it then you who will give answer

To these simple, common sense questions

Rãspunzi tu

You Pure Nothingness?

La aceste întrebãri simple, de bun-simt,

Neantule pur?