The Prisoner

Sometimes in my heart, someone steps foot.
He steps with fervor, as if to take it.

He measures it from bottom to top.
I stay silent, I listen, I hold by breath:

Is it a disease, is it death,
I won’t complain, this is my lot. 

It hurts, but I’m not afraid
Only my heart becomes small, so small…

One night, the steps get bigger and bigger…
“Quiet, my heart, or you’ll burst!”

I yell at her: “Are you crazy?”
She knocks at my ear to tell me:

“Come on, get up, it’s Him…”
“Him? Who’s Him? Hold on a bit!”

“It’s Him, the Lord,” she barely gasps,
“He’s measuring us with steps of a star…”

All of a sudden, I muster my strength
Wave upon wave floods me with joy…

“O, I’ve caught you, my Lord,
You can’t escape, I’m holding You Prisoner…”

 “Well, well,” He smiled, “hold Me for an instant”
“Ah,” I groan, “I’m perishing…”

For an instant, my heart became Heaven.

Vasile Voiculescu