by Vasile Voiculescu
In our souls there are frightening crests,
Yet nobody climbs them, they are untouched,
Above, over mists – storms and disasters,
Upon them the light never dies out…
The sunrise sends there its very first ray,
And his final glow the twilight does send,
Upon their foreheads the light always shines,
Like a kiss which will never come to an end.
Seldom, an eagle with brown wings appears,
Wandering flies on the crests, and then sits,
For deeply caught in the charm of bright secrets
He abides in the heights, and never descends.