“A perfection of means, and a confusion of aims,
seems to be our main problem” (Albert Einstein)
Like a giant black circle, the Universe moves
with all its heavy spheres of plasma and stone,
which follow their elliptic trajectory;
in the centre of the immense sanctuary,
twelve signs rise and begin dancing, twinkling –
waiting for the two opposite triangles to appear circumscribed,
to reunite and to outline the figure of the unborn.
In a corner, the sad Earth sighs, crying for the imperfection of human beings,
which changed some landscapes, damaging the perfect mature.
I want to open my arms, while spinning around,
for embracing the world,
but the Blue Planet is full of evil and ignorance…
so it’s not worth trying!
“What is perfection?” I ask, gazing at the stars
and my subconscious answers in endless echoes:
“God is perfection, as well as happiness, The Afterlife and the catharsis!”
A positive thought attenuates my disappointment:
“I’m perfect in my own imperfection!”
by Alina Andreea Cătărău