CUVINTE NEROSTITE-UNSPOKEN WORDS

• Ca niste scuturi grele taioase si reci,cuvinte nerostite cad ca oglinzi in jurul meu..Duc palmele la ochi. Cerul parca s-a coborat langa mine ca sa ma apere,punand la bataie toata armata ostirilor stelare.Caut o carte pierduta cand cu zvonirea Cuvintelor.In acest loc Ielele frumoasele si-au pus palmele fierbinti peste fruntea mea.Aici pastrez toate amintirile si dorintele smulse din inima atat de dureros,ca spinii.Pe aceste strazi am copilarit si mi-am pus palmele pe aceiasi copaci,care si astazi,pastreaza neschimbat,parfumul copilariei.Imagini dragi,au ramas ca urme sculptate pe trunchiul lor.In gradinile din Parc,Statuile parca vorbesc.Cu ochii intorsi inlauntrul lor,cladesc minunate Palate de clestar.Ca niste parinti,pastreaza un loc sigur pentru toti cei care se vor adaposti la umbra lor.De la fantana din mijlocul aleii,copiii arunca-n joaca stropi de apa-n sus spre Cer,privindu-le apoi caderea in zbor sagetat in jos.Un fluturas alb,adus in graba de caldura diminetii imi indreapta pasii spre corola cu frunze a  batranului Stejar.Sus,spre Cer,stropi de lumina se cern vrajiti printre frunze,alunecand usor in jos,la radacina Copacului.Ca o pasare cu zborul cazut pe Pamant,Cartea ma asteapta. Pierduta candva in vartejul clipelor,mi-a pastrat  toate amintirile-n Cuvinte.Ca imagini ascunse, le bagam in buzunarul nostru,strengareste..Cuvinte nerostite,asemenea frunzelor arse de vant se aseaza usor la umbra statuilor.Inalt Cartea spre Cer.In zbor rotit,Ielele frumoasele coboara-n jos,ridicandu-se apoi ca fluturi albi,dincolo de corola copacilor,ca sa imbratiseze Cerul.
• Like a heavy shields,sharp and cold,unspoken words that mirrors fall around me..I put my palms on the eyes.The sky came down beside me as if to protect me,putting the entire army flight stellar hosts.Looking for a lost book when have rumored Words.In this place Beautiful Elves have put their hot hands over my head.Here I keep all the memories and desires of the heart so painfully torn as thorns.On these streets I grew up and put my palms on the same tree,which keeps unchanged today,the scent of childhood.Pictures loved,have remained carved marks on their trunk.In the gardens of the park,talking statues.With eyes turned inward inside them,build wonderful palaces of crystal.Like parents,keep a safe place for everyone to be their shelter in the shade.From the fountain in the middle of the alley,children throw drops of water in play up to the sky,then watching them fall down arrow in flight.A white butterfly,brought morning rush of heat turns my steps towards the corolla of the Old Oak Leaf.Upwards into the sky,drops of light bewitched sifted through the leaves,gently gliding down to the roots of the tree.Like a bird in flight feel to the Earth,the Book waiting for me.Someday lost in the whirlwind of moments,Book has kept me all the memories in Keywords.As a hidden pictures,stuffing them in our pocket,sprightly.Unspoken words like leaves burned slightly wind sits in the shadow of statues.High Book to Sky.In Flight rotated,Beautiful Elves going down and then rising as white butterflies,trees beyond the corolla,to embrace the sky.
  

CU BRATELE INCARCATE DE FLORI-WITH ARMS FULL OF FLOWERS

• Am lasat usa bisericii deschisa si-am pornit grabita spre Izvor.Ca un pelerin,mirosul de tamaie ma insoteste pe drum.Se strecoara in preajma mea pentru a pecetlui amintirile,lucrurile,Calatoria si Locul.Din Munte s-a pornit un freamat de vant uscat.Am pus o candela in traista.Ca o cetate asediata,Padurea isi cheama Aparatorii.De la Portile Rasaritului s-a pornit un zvon cum ca lucrurile stiute nu vor mai fi.Fiara infometata da tarcoale Izvorului,ca sa zdrobeasca ciupercile.Purtata de vantul amiezii,zadarniceste drumul spre apa al caprioarelor.La chemarea Cerbului,Ciutele speriate isi croiesc drum prin Padure.Bat cu copita in locul ramas gol.Acolo am sa pun candela aprinsa.Frunze arse de caldura se aseaza tacute in frunzis,ca un avertisment.Ciocarlia s-a ascuns si nestiuta,isi curata hainuta.La strigatul Vulturului va porni ca o sageata-n sus,spre Soare,ca sa-i smulga Toiagul.Ielele frumoasele vor statornici din nou Anotimpurile,pe care Fiara a vrut sa le ascunda-n stanci cand a zdrobit ciupercile.Isi vor incrucisa bratele peste Padure,se vor zvoni si se vor rostogoli ca ciulinii,chicotind si imbrancindu-se pana la Maracinis.Vor lovi cu Toiagul in pamantul mocirlos si vor alunga Fiara.Prinzand in palme Toiagul,imi amintesc de o dimineata de vara cand bunica mea stropea  florile-n gradina.Aceasta amintire si lucrurile pe care le-am pastrat din ea sunt ca binefacerea pe care o facea ori de cate ori venea la noi cu bratele incarcate de flori.
• I left the church door opened and I started to hurry spring.As a pilgrim,the smell of incense accompanying me on the road.Strain in to seal around Me memory,things,travel and The place.From the Mountain has started a dry rustling.I put a candle in my bag.As a city besieged,Forest calls his defenders.From the Eastern Gates has started a rumor that the known things would not be.Hungry beast,roaring the Spring,to crush mushrooms.Worn by the afternoon wind,water foiled way to the deer.In calling the Deer,scared Hints make their way through the forest.Hoof knock instead remained empty.There I was put candle lit.Leaves sit silent heat burned the foliage,as a warning.The skylark was hidden and unknown,his coat clean.On Eagle"s cry will start as an arrow up to the Sun to grab him The scepter.Beautiful Elves will settle back seasons beast wanted to hide in the rocks when he crush the mushrooms.They will cross their arms over Forest,will be rumored as thistles and will roll over,giggling and being shoved up the briers.They strike with the rod in the marshy land and will banish the beast.Catching rod in my hands,I remember one summer morning when my grandmother sprinkling flowers in the garden.This memory and the things I kept from it are like a blessing that she did,whenever came to us with arms full of flowers.

CUMPANA FANTANII-THE SWEEP

• Dincolo de dealul acesta cresc tufisuri cu mure.Cu palmele intepate de ghimpi duc Murele la gura.Gustul acesta dulce si parfumat imi aminteste intotdeauna de Calea Ingerilor.De atata singuratate trupul obosit cade pe camp ca un crucifix.Inca o data,in Cer se deschide o Poarta,ca sa treaca Ingerii.Asezati pe cale,Norii albi isi mangaie Stapanii,fiind ca un balsam in Calatoria lor prin Univers.Cand se vor intoarce din Calatorie,Ingerii vor purta pe frunte Semnul Pamantului.Obositi si impovarati,vor adormi la umbra fantanilor.Norii albi,ca niste mercenari,vor duce umbra Semnului in curtea bisericii.Tulburati si confuzi,Ingerii le vor cere plata.Si astfel,in mijlocul amiezii,chiar in curtea bisericii,Norii se vor scutura si vor pleca.Stropii de ploaie vor cadea ca banuti peste pietrele albe ale cimitirului,strecurandu-se apoi ca un Hoinar printre morminte.Ma aplec peste cumpana fantanii si ating cu palma Cerul .Banutii adunati am sa-i dau ca Ort pentru cei pentru care nu aprinde nimeni nici o lumanare.
• Beyond this hill with blackberry bushes grow.With palms stung by the barbs go blackberrys in the mouth.Sweet and fragrant taste it always reminds me of Angel Way.From so solitude,tired body is on the field as a crucifix.Once again,in Heaven opens a gate to cross the Angels.Place Path,Withe Clouds caress their masters were like a balm on their journey across the Universe.When they return of the journey,the Angels will carry sign forehead of Earth.Weary and burdened wells will sleep in the shade.White clouds,like mercenaries,will lead the churchyard shadow sign.Troubled and confused,the angels will ask for payment.So in mid afternoon even in the churchyard,clouds will shake and leave.Drops of rain will fall like pennies over the white stones of the cemetery,then creep up as a wandering among the tombs.I leaned over the sweep and palm sky.The small coins have gathered to give that Ort,those for wich no one lights a candle.

ZORNAIND LANTURILE-JINGLE CHAINS

• Strigatul Pasarilor din inaltul Cerului-chemarea Zborului la o Rascruce.Aici e Locul in care,obosit de Calatorie te odihnesti si pornesti din nou pe un Drum tainic si cunoscut.Rascrucea te asteapta intotdeauna la capatul Drumului.Ca o Margareta de pe camp,iti primeste trupul insetat intre petale,pe covorul galben si catifelat al Corolei.Soarele,ca un banut,s-a transformat intr-un punct luminos spre care vei porni.Cate margarete atatea rascruci,cate pasari atatea strigate.Trebuie sa pastram Lanturile,ca o mostenire Zornaindu-le pe Pamant,trupul isi face legatura spre Locul de unde a pornit.Ca un Toiag,Locul acesta este binecuvantat inca de atunci de cand,facandu-si plimbarea de dimineata,Ingerii nu stiau cum sa calce prin Dumbrava ca sa nu striveasca Margaretele.
• Birds scream from the sky-flight calling at a crossroads.This a place where,tired of Journey rest and start again on a mysterious way and knew.Crossroads always waiting at the end of the road.As a Daisy from the field,your body gets thirsty between petals and velvety carpet of yellow corolla.Sun,a penny has turned into a bright point to where you started.How many stars so many crossroads,as many birds as many screams.We need to keep the chains,as a legacy.Jingle on the Earth,the body is connection to the place where it started.As a staff,since the place is blessed since then,making their morning walk,Angels do not know how to walk through the Grove not to squash the daisies in their steps.

MAREA CALATORIE-GREAT JOURNEY

• Trecerea Timpului peste unduirea de Izvor a pietrelor,ca limpezirea palmelor,asezate in fata jgheabului,de unde va curge Izvorul.Cadere lina ,cristalina,adaugata,numarata in clipe,ca trosnetul genunilor in Intuneric.Fi-va ecoul Inceputului,adaugat Timpului,Adanc descoperit de umbre,care nu se schimba.Fi-va clipa adaugata peste pietre,ca un taciune ars,o licarire inflacarata,cazuta din inima Muntelui.Pornisem din zori spre creasta,sa ascult ecoul clipelor,ascunse ca intr-un tunel,in pieptul meu.Sa ascult,asezata cu genunchii stransi,pe o buturuga,cum inima mea bate,ca aripile soimului,inaltandu-se tot mai sus,in zbor rotit.Picaturi de roua,aduse sagalnic de vantul hoinar,ascunse printre muguri,se aseaza timide pe palma mea,in semnul Izvorului,ingemanand,ca niste lacrimi ascunse,trecerea Timpului.Si,parca,nimic nu e ascuns aici,privind nemarginirea,caci inima mea,ca o pasare speriata,cu trupul obosit,se odihneste,hranindu-se,cu clipele aduse-n zbor,pe aripi,plapande clipe,cazand ca picaturi de roua,in Abis.Privesc Izvorul,si-ascult acum,prin ecoul dintre stanci,fosnetul Padurii.Si,parca,Timpul s-a oprit,sa asculte trecerea undelor de aer,printre mugurii brazilor,si,parca,picaturi,pastrate cu grija in cupola mugurilor,primesc acum metamorfoza,pregatind,cu grija,sufletul meu,pentru Marea Calatorie.Cobor in vale,sa-mi pun talpile fierbinti pe pietrele ude si reci ale Izvorului,sa petrec,cu palmele,unde cristaline,adunand,in taina,ca o mireasma,farmecul povestilor spuse de bunica,atunci cand,luand fusul in mainile-i trudite,se uita cu atata caldura in ochii mei,incat intregul loc se transforma,ca pe o poarta nevazuta,Timpul,in locul minunat,pe care,copil fiind,inca nu stiam ca poate fi pecetluit cu lacrimi,ca niste picaturi de roua,in Trupul Ielelor frumoaselor,Izvorul Cuvintelor,pregatit de la inceput.
• Passage of time over waving stones,that rinse palms,placed in the right gutter,where it will flow spring.Gentle fall,crystalline,added,numbered in the moments that tick abyss in darkness.Will be echoing the beginning,added Time,Deep shadows discovered not change.Will be moment,added over rocks,like a canker burned a fiery glimpse,fallen from heart of the mountain.Start from dawn to ridge,to hear echoing moments,hidden,as in a tunnel in my chest.Listening,sitting with knees raised on a stump,as my heart beats,that hawk wings,rising higher,turned-in-flight.Drops of dew brought mischievous,the wanderer wind,hidden among the buds,shy sits on my hand,in sign of Spring,gathering,like hidden tears,over time.And,if nothing is hidden here,the infinite,for my heart,like a scared bird the tired body,resting,feeding on moments,brough-in-flight,the wings,fragile moments,falling like dew drops in abyss.I look the spring,listen now,the echoing of the rocks,the rustle of the forest.And,if,time stopped,listening waves of air passing through the leaves of trees,and,if,drops,carefully preserved in bud dome,now get metamorphosis and prepared with care my soul,to the Great Journey.Pass into the valey,to get my hot feet,on wet and cold stones of the fountain,to watch with palms,crystal waves,gathering in secret as a fragrance,charm stories,told by grandma when taking spindle into her weary hands,looked into my eyes with so much warmth,that the entire place is transformed,as an unseen gate,at the wonderful place,that as a child still did not know that can be sealed with tears,like drops of dew,on body of Beautiful Elves,Spring words,prepared from the beginning.

PICATURILE DE ROUA ALE DIMINETII-THE MORNING DEW DROPS

• Pastrand ca pe un tezaur,picaturile de roua ale diminetii,fire de iarba,ca niste soldatei,incolonati de-a lungul Potecii,asteapta sa duca-n Lume,Povestea,ascunsa ca o lacrima,in semintele papadiilor.Unde de aer,trimise de-un vant molatic,se strecoara printre pietre,adapostindu-se,ca Ielele frumoasele,printre crengile inflorite ale copacilor.Involburate si tacute,asculta curgerea Izvorului din Munte,cautand albia apei,printre radacinile copacilor.Ca un tumult ,inmanunchiat de forte ascunse de tenebre,ca niste lanturi asezate pe Pamant,radacinile copacilor si-au infipt,cu sarguinta degetele,insemnand locul,veacul.Cand eram copil,ma ascundeam printre firele de iarba,ca sa-mi ascult pasii,ramasi ca niste urme,in campul cu trifoi,apoi paseam cu grija pe covorul verde,sa-i simt prospetimea.Petale de vis peste ochi imi cadeau,alungand teama,si alergam spre o lume minunata ascunsa in inima,pastrata ca o comoara insemnata de Cer.Ascunzandu-se de umbre,acest indemn al firii,mi-a imbogatit copilaria,iar acum,privind din ascunzisul Padurii,poteca ce duce catre casa,o amintire fierbinte cade din inima mea,topindu-se in undele de aer,printre crengile copacilor.As vrea sa-i ating urma,dar topindu-se grabita in inserarea ce se lasa,mi se aseaza pe frunte,ca un strop fermecat din manunchiul de raze ale soarelui,in asfintit.
• Keep it as a treasure,droplets of morning dew,fresh grass blades,like soldiers,lined up along the path,waiting to lead in the world,Storry,hidden like a tear in dandelions seeds.Air waves send by a slow wind,strain among rocks sheltered it,like elves,among the blooming trees.Swirling and silent,listening Spring flow in the Mountain,looking water bed,among the roots of trees.When I was a child,I hid among the blades of grass,listen to my foot steps,left like traces in the clover field,and then pass with care,green carpet,to feel fresheness of.As a flurry,combined of forces hidden by darkness,like chains,lay on the ground,tree roots have diligently stuck fingers,mark the place,the age.Dream petals feel over my eyes,dispelling fear,and ran into a wonderful world,hidden in the heart,preserved as a significant treasure of heaven.Hiding in of shadows,the urge of the nature,has enriched my childhood,and now,concerning,of hiding Forest,the trail wich leads to the house,a hot reminder drops from my heart melts into air waves,among tree branches.I want to touch trace,but melting hastening grow dark,what is left,sits on my forehead,like a magic touch,the bunch of rays of sunshine in dusk.

INIMA SI URCIORUL-HEART AND JUG

• Sunt atatea ulcioare cate inimi de profeti.Batranii povestesc ca,prin aceste locuri s-au perindat,ca norii,calatori insetati,cu fruntea indreptata spre Cer.De pe acest colt de stanca,pelerinii au coborat,tinand in maini,ulciorul.Profetul si-a rupt camasa,si-a dezlegat sandalele,pierzandu-si urma prin Padure.Ridicand ulciorul sfaramat de pe coltul stancii,am regasit un bob dintr-o samanta,ascuns in umbra.Cu invelisul invechit si spart,cu miezul alb,inmiresmat.Cu palarii de papadii,zvonind din varful Muntelui,Ielele frumoasele s-au prins in joc,sa ma-nsoteasca spre locul de veghe ,unde profetul a stat.Cat de adanci i-au fost privirile,asa si taina sa,cat de adanca:ulciorul ducand sa nu se zdrobeasca,apa vie din ulcior sa nu se injumatateasca.Curgerea izvorului sa le primeasca si iubirea,si rugaciunea,si jertfa,si gazduirea.
• There are so many jugs how many are the hearts of the prophets.Elders tell that in these places there have been,like clouds,thirsty travelers,with forehead toward heaven.From this corner of rock,pilgrims came down,holding hands,jug.On the way to spring,jug has rolled.Prophet broke his shirt,then he loosed sandals,losing his tracks in the woods.Raising the jug shattered on the rock corner,I found a grain of a seed hidden in shadow.The shell,old and broken,white crumb,fragrant.With the hats of dandelions,rumored in the mountain,the Beautiful Elves were caught in game,to accompany me to the place of waking,where the prophet spent.How deep have been the eyes,so mystery its,how deep:leading jug,not to crush it,living water from the jug,not to halve.Spring flow to receive them,prayer,love,sacrifice and hosting.