There are frightening crests

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.

The most beautiful day

by Alexandru Andries

A way of prolonging the most beautiful day
Would be if you could lie to me.
We’d set the time back, we’d boil two soft eggs,
You’d tell me that in the house there’s no one else.

Silence would help you get rid of my question,
Of all the questions, the heaviest.
When the evening would turn into gray, you wouldn’t be able to contain yourself.
You’d speak on the phone from the bathroom.
With a dark voice, with a gloomy air,
With anything, just to see me gone.
And then I ask you: do you remember the most beautiful day?
It was in the beginning, when you couldn’t lie to me at all.

In your mother tongue

lyrics by Grigore Vieru, song by Tudor Gheorghe

All the people in the world
Cry in the same language.
In the same language
An entire Earth laughs.
Only in your mother tongue
You can comfort the pain,
And the joy
You can change into song.


In your mother tongue
You miss your mother,
And wine is more wine,
And lunch is more lunch.
And only in your mother tongue
You can laugh by yourself,
And only in your mother tongue
You can stop crying.

And when you can’t
Cry or laugh,
When you cannot caress
Or sing,
With your land,
With your sky in front of you,
You are quiet then
In your mother tongue.

The Japanese’s garden water rondeau

by Alexandru Macedonski

To his water in the garden
Much too slowly flowing down
Rocks and boulders in a cluster
Japanese lays in its line.

He would like to see it foamy
All around his house enclosing
Quiet water in the garden
Much too slowly flowing down.

Changing it to falling rapids
Of consonants and of vowels
He forgets life’s heavy burden
By the crystals all resounding
Of his water in the garden.

Song for the boys killed in Chisinau

by Savatie Bastovoi

I wish I told you what cannot be spoken,
I wish I gave you what cannot be bought.
It is a certain, certain way of feeling,
Because I wish to share with you my heart.

I wish I wrote to you with fingers
Of this hand my Creator made,
Words that we’ll take with us forever,
Which only longing can appraise.

I wish I touched you like somebody
Would gently touch you on deathbed,
When there’s no room for word and teardrop,
To feel my heartbeat in your hand.