a XIV-a, 2023 RETRIEVAL

I used to steep my reflexions in ink Until I gazed inside my flawless heart to write, Where Poetry has built a charming home With flowers, blissful dreams and light, And priceless moments must have flown.

Returned from places that Iused to roam With curious, wandering thoughts and steps, I found these meadows, glades and beaten paths of Freedom, But no poem or verse crossed my mind, No structure, rhyme or rhythm.

Like a foreign traveller, longing for his lands, Carrying a sad memory, a burden in my hands On my long way with twists and turns, I stopped. I would have liked to hear Not only the trilled songs of the eastern birds But a dear, soft, welcoming voice Whispering in my ear.

Nevertheless, I seem to have forgotten this sweet voice, My grace to create, to write, that wasn’t my own choice, And yet I don’t regret coming back to myself: Either the vast night sky or my old empty pages, Either the fireflies or the stars shining for ages Will always be either my muses or my sages.

Returning like a wanderer to this long-forgotten land, Thorns are now grown on the path instead of fragrant flowers

Even if once there were diaphanous, serene horizons of the Poetry, I feel lonely and sad, like in a realm of the damned And I no longer find myself in what was mine or ours.

Desen: Ștefan Socaci, a

-a I

Luna Francofoniei