Lucian Blaga (in my translation)

Melancholy

A lonely wind is wiping tears on windows,

It’s raining.

Undefined sadness is shrouding me, but all the pain

I fill

I do not fell inside,

In my hard,

In my chest,

But in the drops of rain that drip.

And grafted on my person, the boundless world

With it’s autumn and it’s evening

Hurts me like a wound.

To the mountains, clouds are passing full uddered,

And it’s raining.

Us  and the Earth

So many stars tonight are falling,

It seems like night’s daemon is holding the Earth in his hands

And sparks is blowing,

Terrible to fire it.

This night, when

So many stars are falling,

Your witch young body is burning in my arms

Like the flames of a stake.

Mad,

Like fire tongs I reach my arms

To melt the snow of your naked shoulders

To drain and greedy devour

Your power, blood and pride and spring.

Tomorrow, when day will fire night

When ashes of the night will disappear,

Took by a wind of west,

Tomorrow, I would like that also us

Be ashes.

Missing

Thirsty, I am drinking your sweet smell and take your face

In my both hands,

Like someone take a miracle

In it’s soul.

Nearness is burning us,

Such staying eyes in eyes.

And yet, you whisper me: “So much I miss you“

So mysterious and eager you’re telling me,

Like I would be wandering on other Earth.

Woman,

What ocean are you hiding in your hard, and who you are?

Sing me again your heart’s desire,

To listen you

And a moment appearing me like burgeons,

From which eternities are blooming.

Remeberes

Where are you today

I do not know.

Eagles where passing trough God above us.

I slip myself in memories, so long since then.

On the old summits where sun comes up from the Earth,

Your sight was so blue and very high.

Legendary rumor is rising from the fir trees.

All understanding eye was the holly mountain lake.

In my inner self it’s talking even now about you

Form my eyelashes death streams are dropping out.

I should cut the grass,

I should cut the grass where you stepped.

With the denying scythe on my shoulder,

In the last sadness I am girding.