Violeta Zamfirescu

Nelly Tsenova : Flight

ATÎT

Ştiu. E amurg, e frig de cer, e mult tîrziu,

Şi doar bacanta soarelui am vrut sa-ţi fiu,

Poate izvor de curcubeu peste urît,

O piersică la sudul lacrimei, atît.

Abur de ziuă, de copac, de abur stea,

O zburătoare petrecînd odihna ta,

Reîntregindu-te frumos te-aş fi-nălţat

Peste zeiţele-armoniei împarat.

Dar aici viii umblă morţi şi nu mai ştiu

Cît lung amurg e, poate frig de cer, tîrziu

Retează sfîşierea nervii, iar mă dor

Tragice umblete, zăpezi ţipînd a zbor.


NO MORE

I know. It's dusk, it's cold of sky, it's late,
Just a bacchante of the sun to you I wished to be,
Maybe a spring of rainbow over the sadness,
A peach at the south of your tear, no more.

A steam of day, a steam of tree, a star of steam,
A flaying bird escorting your rest,
Beautifully completing you I should raised you
A king over the godesses of harmony.

But here the living walk like dead and I no more know
How long the twilight is, maybe a cold of sky, late
The laceration cut off my nerves, and hurt me again
Tragical walks, snows screaming of flight.