09.03.2013

Florenţa Albu




ŞI NOPŢILE

Ştiam,
se liniştea vîntul
şi luna trecea peste viile-n floare
storcîndu-le-n cupe
polenuri astrale.

Încet, adînc, tăcut
trecea luna
peste florile viei,
peste inima mea
şi-n pădurea salcîmilor
privighetori începeau
noaptea lor albă de cîntec.

Toate erau frumoase şi pline
şi ochiul mare al morţii
se uita din vîrful lumii
la mine.

În jurul lui - dorinţi, iubiri,
privighetori şi flori de vie,
şi ploi lunare, şi visări
creşteau concentric, pînă sus -

dar răzbătea din toate ochiul,
atît de calmul 
ochi al morţii.



AND THE NIGHTS

I knew,
the wind became quiet
and the moon was passing over the flowering vineyards
squeezing in their cups
starry pollens.

Slowly, deeply, silently
the moon was passing
over the flowers of the vineyard,
over my heart
and in the robinia wood
the nightingales began 
their white night of singing.

Everything was beautiful and full
and the large eye of the death
was looking at me
from the top of the world.

Around him - desires, loves,
nightingales and grape flowers,
and moon rains, and dreams
were concentrically growing up -

but the calm eye of death
was penetrating
among all.


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