There’s neither life, nor death as such,
there’s only life or death of soul −
a soul alive or a dead soul is always hiding
beneath what you’ve been used to call,
solemnly, life and death −
it is the soul that’s waking up to life or feels
weighed down with grief, worried to death

You see, your soul’s serene again today
as the sky clear is after the storm,
in any soul – heaven and hell in balance
endeavour to preserve the harmony of being

A tree will never question why
the sap is running, still, under its bark,
it lets itself go with the seasons
so it turns green, it blossoms,
its leafs and flowers are the signs
of life’s unquestionable meaning
for happiness you need not find a reason
Let happiness be the sense of your life

The mornings of the soul – a frenzy that,
when coming out from misty sleep,
raises you up into the heights
wherefrom you can mirror yourself
in the fountain of your soul
The mornings of the soul are a delight –
the instant when you come to see
with a child’s innocence
the freshness nature lavishly displays
Look at the many-coloured flowers
rising above your neighbour’s rotten fence,
the air is warm and friendly
as when, wrapped in one shirt,
a pair of happy lovers are still hoping
the two of them would make forever one

Loneliness − what is it but longing for oneself
you’ll never come to know your self in isolation
the mornings’ beauty is within the soul,
which nature only glorifies,
bushes and flowers of all kinds welcome your steps,
birds seem to be the same as when
you thought life cannot be but soaring;
a thistle’s clinging friendly to your shoulder,
a branchlet of the apple tree, from love,
stays hanging on your hair,
the dew is cool and fresh under your soles
and the sun gleaming in its drops is saying
also the sky has wept for you

If the sun finds room in a dewdrop,
how morning can’t find room in your soul too ?...



translated from Romanian by Roxana Alexandrescu, [email protected]