The three blessings:
creation, procreation and home.
The rest are mere joys.
C. Noica

You dreamed to be loved
to become a wife, to have babies,
to build a house from scratch...
And you were loved
and you became a wife
and you had babies
and you built a house
close to the banks of a river,
at the foot of a mountain.
You worked
in the unequal rhythm of the heart,
you felt “your earth”
under your feet;
out of brick, wood and rock
you built a house.
You opened doors, windows,
you opened your heart, too,
for the cold air to enter,
the smell of pine resin,
the light of gold rays of the sun seen
from over the hill.
You felt like a wife, mother, mistress…
You listened
to the laughter of the river
and you watched its lustre,
you walked the ownerless woods,
the miraculous springs…
Their crystal clear water
painted the rocks
in the colours of the rainbow.
You walked on the paths,
creepers strangled your ankles,
tying you to the ground,
the eyes pierced the blue spots
of the sky with sainthood…
You would come back home
full of light,
the river Vâlsan spoke,
a windmill tattered by time
warned you:
“You will lose all, you will leave,
you will be lost,
like Don Quixote,
with windmills you will fight,
sad in your solitude
you will remain…”