by Grigore Vieru
The Prut river separates us and cries,
Hard for us, and for him it’s likewise.
For every wave of water, three of blood
Poor river Prut forgotten by Word.
People die, and people come to uproar,
Though the wire is barbed between us,
And we’ll have one day a day of Easter,
Arise from death, Romanian ones.
Brother from the other side of river
Rise your eyes and look into my heart,
We shall do them one after the other
If we choose to follow the same path.
Gone away each little trace of water
That has caused us all to bleed and bleed,
A new land shall come to fit the channel
Of this river Prut like biting steel.
Prut river between Romanian parties,
In Carpathians you can hear its cry,
Olt and Mures hum the same old chorus,
Jiu and Nistru, won’t you sing alike?
You can see from sky the whole arrangement,
Like a heaven bloody in its belt
Brother come, let’s tie it in a rainbow,
These two banks that spring has failed to melt.