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.