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.

IN SEMNUL NOPTII,UN LICURICI-IN THE SIGN OF NIGHT A FIREFLY

• Pornesc spre Izvor.In vale se aude curgerea apei.Cerul instelat este atat de boltit,incat,privind printre degete,haloul ramas in undele de aer,imi pare a fi o catedrala.Cat de ascuns e zvonul,cat de infiorata bataia inimii,ca o purificare intr-un templu uitat in timp.Astept tacuta,ca Ielele frumoasele,ca niste regine ale noptii,purtand in plete parfum inmiresmat din praf de stele,sa deschida Poarta care duce spre Izvor.Timide,tacute,cu ochi stralucitori,ascunzandu-se in dans pribeag printre copaci,s-au asezat in palma mea,ca niste picaturi de roua.Cerbul Muntelui scormoneste neancetat cu copita,spre locul care duce in Adanc.In semnul pamantului reavan,se deschide Poarta,prin care,trecand ca un print,cu nari frematand de dor si insetat,trebuie sa bea din apa de Izvor,ascunsa in umbra tenebrelor.Ca niste licurici,lanturile cad incet,in iarba.Pietre ramase pe stanci,se rostogolesc in taina,ca bataile unei inimi in noaptea instelata,asternand pe fruntea mea,ca picaturi de roua,dulcea sarutare a Ielelor frumoaselor.In semnul noptii,un licurici,ca un menestrel trimis din Cer,asteapta in iarba,sa puna seminte de lumina in urma pasilor mei,ca niste felinare,sa nu uit niciodata drumul spre Izvor.Ascult insetata curgerea apei,atat de pura,de inmiresmata si de rece,incat firimiturile de paine culese de la masa Stapanului,se transforma in balsam,in Ungerea de care trupul meu are nevoie pentru urcus.
• Start to Spring.In the valley you can hear water flowing.Starry sky is so arch,that on among the fingers,halo remained in the air waves,I seem to be a cathedral.How hidden is rumor,how creepy heartbeat,as a purification in the temple looked time.Wait quietly,that Beautiful Elves,like queens of the night,wearing in hair fragrant perfume of star dust,open the Gate wich leads to spring.Shy,silent,with bright eyes,hiding-in wandering dance through the trees were settled in my palm,like drops of dew.Deer Mountain burrows with hoof to the place that leads into the abyss.In the moist earth sign,it opens the door,wich,moving like a prince,with flickering nostrils of longing and thirsting,need to drink from spring water,hidden-in the shadows of darkness.Like fireflies,chains are falling slowly in the grass.Stones left on the rocks roll-in mystery,that beats of a heart-in starry night,dusting on my forehead,that drops of dew,a sweet kiss of Beautiful Elves.In the sign of the night,a firefly,like a minstrel sent from heaven,waiting in the grass,to lay light seeds,following my steps,like lamps,never forget the way to Spring.Listen thirsty water flow,so pure,fragrant and cold,that the bread crumbs collected  from the Master table,turns in balm,in anointing that my body needs to climb.

SI,PARCA N-AS MAI PLECA,PARCA N-AS STA-AND,THOUGH I WOULD NOT GO,THOUGH I WOULD STAY

• Poteca aceasta duce spre pajiste.In maracinis,cerul pare acoperit.Aerul a devenit o povara mult prea grea,si as vrea sa ma asez pe o buturuga.Cu palmele ranite de spinii din maracini,ating usor fire de iarba,ascunse de paienjenisul crengilor uscate,ca niste brate increstate,vremelnice semne ale Anotimpurilor.Bulgari de pamant reavan,cuceritoare boltiri ale tenebrelor in ascunzis,se sfarma sub pasii mei,ca fosnetul frunzelor cazute printre copaci.Pe drumul spre pajiste,se aude cantecul incetinit al greierului,si nechezatul cailor,care cauta cu narile frematand de placere,parfumul florilor ascunse in buchetul firelor de iarba.In zbor,aripile insectelor,ca si clipele,lasa urme de pulbere stelara,un parfum racoros,efemer.Cu umerii intorsi spre Padure,aud pasii sovaitori,ca de naluca,ai Fiarei,care ma urmareste,ascunzandu-se printre maracini,dorind sa-mi smulga din inima Mostenirea.Ca un ucenic ostenit,caut geana de lumina,sa potrivesc tainicele chemari din Adanc.Ca intr-o vraja a trecerii,adun vreascuri uscate,fosnind duios si-ncetinit,ca pasii unui copil pierdut pe drum,privind jucariile din vitrina unui magazin.Si,parca n-as mai pleca,parca n-as sta.Adun vreascuri uscate,fosnind duios si-ncetinit,cazute in locul de unde o vrabiuta a tasnit,ca o speranta,cautand,in zbor rotit,lumina de la capatul potecii.
• The trail leads to the meadow.In briers,the sky seems covered.The air has become a burden too heavy,and I want to sit on a stump.With hands hurt by thorns of thistles,flick blades of grass,hidden in cobwebs dry branches,like arms thriving,temporary signs of the seasons.Moist clods,arching charming of darkness in hiding,it breaks under my steps,like rustling of leaves fallen trees.On the way to meadow,heard the crickets song slowed down,and horses neigh,looking with nostrils flickering of pleasure,fragrance of flowers,hidden in the grass.In flight,wings of insects,like the moments,leaving traces by star dust,cool perfume,ephemeral.With shoulders return to Forest hear wavering steps,as ghost of the Beast,who following me,hiding amond the thistles,wanting to grab from my heart,heritage.As a tired apprentice,looking eyelash light,to match the mysterious call of the Deep.As a spell of passing,gather dry twigs,rustling sweet and slowed,like steps of a child lost on the road,the toys in a shop window.And,though I would not go,though I would stay.Gather dry twigs,rustling sweet and slowed,hanging in the place when a sparrow has sprung,like a hope,looking-in rotated flight,the light at the end of trail.

IN ZBOR ADAUGAT-THE ADDED FLIGHT

• Fosneste,cazand ca o mangaiere,pe fruntea mea,asternand,prin freamatul undelor de aer,parfumul calatoriilor,cu intrebari ramase fara raspuns.Ca o aripa cazute pe pleoape-clipa aceasta vie,am s-o pastrez frematand de iubire,in inima mea.Ca intr-un templu al iubirii,Ielele frumoasele s-au asezat in locul de unde Pasarile isi iau zborul spre inima Muntelui.In zbor adaugat,razele Soarelui se rotesc,ascunse de umbra Padurii,cautand locul in care se vor intoarce.Ating cu palma coltul unui nor,impletind inele de visuri,din boboitele de roua,cazute pe varful firelor de iarba.In cantecul ascuns al cucilor-ecoul inaltimilor,in ascunzisul Padurii-urma cerbului,in nechezatul cailor-adancimile inconjurate ale fantanii.Ca intr-un templu al iubirii,Ielele frumoasele si-au pus mana streasina la ochi,privind in departare spre mijlocul Muntelui,ascultand,cu inima frematand de bucurie,cum pasii mei obositi,au gasit poteca de urcus,calcand cu grija printre pietre,printre firele de iarba,printre flori.
• Rustled falling like a caress on my forehead,dusting,by rustling the air waves,perfume journeys with unanswered questions.As a wing hanging eyelids,this moment,I should keep it alive,flickering of love in my heart.As in a temple of love.Beautiful Elves settled in the place where birds take their flight to the mountain.In flight added,sunlight turn hidden by shadow Woods,seeking its place that will return.Touch,palm,corner of a cloud,braided rings of dreams,from berries of dew,fallen on top of blades of grass.The hidden song Cuckoo-echo heights in hidding Forest-trace deer,in neigh horses-sourrounded depths of the fountain.As in a temple of love,Beautiful Elves have put hand eaves eyes,looking away,the middle mountain,listening,flickering heart with joy,how tired my steps found the path ascent,stepping with care among stones,among blades of grass,among the flowers.