I'm being visited more and more seldom

Mã viziteazã tot mai rar

By respiration.

Respiratia -

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

Nu mai respir - deci nu mai scriu

Prin urmare nu mai trãiesc.

And here I ask:

The portion of my air I did not breathe

Si acum întreb:

(Since I was gone before the deadline)

Portia mea de aer - rãmasã

Is it worth anything?

(Cã m-am dus înainte de vreme)

At least it could be given to the poor

Foloseste la ceva?

(If this were possible)

Mãcar sã se fi împãrtit la sãraci

But this is such an absurd parsimony

(Dacã ar fi posibil)

Of Nothingness.

Dar e o economie de neînteles

A neantului -

And further on:

The thoughts I left unwritten

Si mai departe:

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

Ce mai aveam eu de scris

How could a new pen different from mine

Cine va scrie? Cã nici firele de nisip

Resume the thread exactly from the point I ceased?

Nu seamãnã unul cu altul

Ce panã sã se înnoade exact

And I had just discovered

La firul meu început?

A handful of great subjects, themes.

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

Si tocmai cãzusem

Who is the one who will decode my notes

Pe-o minã de subiecte, teme grozave -

Which I could never organize?

Îmi încropisem - zbârnâia - stilul

Sau mãcar cine îmi va întelege notele

Is it then you who will give answer

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

To these simple, common sense questions

You Pure Nothingness?

Rãspunzi tu

La aceste întrebãri simple, de bun-simt,

Neantule pur?