by Lucian Blaga
When you step faintly on city streets
on seed of elm, and while you walk
in lucid truths you do believe –
is there a need for any verse?
When mass of moss alleviates
during the summer longing green
and while I hear your dripping voice
is there a need for any spring?
When in the beating of the wind
you gracefully pace on the hill,
upon the compass of the earth
is there a need for a wheat ear?
When between absence and abundance
we both rejoice in all there is
and under ground a bone will sing –
is there a need for any word?
When I divine your burning clay
like in Tanagra none has been,
from far up north and until south
is there a need for statues, dear?
When rambling with you by my side,
we find ourselves now hand in hand
while pondering at the same star –
is there a need for destiny?
When all achievements fail to dust
under the galaxy of smoke
and through the fragrance of fir trees
is there a need for any road?
If I were to forever live
inside your thought, clay that I am,
from dusk till dawn, from dusk till dawn
is there a need for any tomb?