The Light

by Lucian Blaga

The light that I feel
invading my chest when I see you,
is it not a spark of the light
created in the first day,
from that deeply thirsty for life light?

The nothingness lay in agony
when it floated alone in the dark
and the Incomprehensible One gave a sign
“Let there be light!”

The moment became
a sea
and a mad blizzard of light:
a thirst for sin, adventure, longing, desire,
a thirst for world and sun.

But where did the dazzling
light from that time dissapear – who knows?

The light that I feel invading
my chest – oh, you, wonderful one,
it may be as the last speck
from the light created in the first day.

Something like prayer

by Marin Sorescu

I don’t know what’s the matter with me,
for I don’t sleep when I’m asleep.
I don’t know what’s the matter with me,
for I am not awake,
when I’m on a vigil.

I don’t know what’s the matter with me,
for I don’t get anywhere
when I walk.

I don’t know what’s the matter with me,
for standing in one place
I am remotely away.

Lord, from what kind of clay
did You take me in Your warm hands,
and by what kind of saliva
did You brake and puddle my clay?

That I don’t know what’s the matter with me,
for I exist,
I don’t know what’s the matter with me,
for I have nothing,
but You.