Verses by Lucian Blaga, translated by Julia Kalman
Please make sure to spend a minimum of 30 seconds reading my story.
I truly cherish the interaction of authentic readers. Thank you very much!
Within us, dreams still linger, yet to conquer,
with imaginary freedoms, we deceive.
Guarding us like flames, standing as sentinels,
tall poplars line the path we weave.
To escape from norms and rigid codes,
sometimes whispers from the heart persuade,
and from its cavern, with a silvery voice, a cricket,
urges us day by day, and hour by hour.
Up on the hill, in a vineyard kissed by violet,
I would take you sometimes, to meet the sun.
A peach on a branch would greet us
like a golden sin, in autumn, under the warmth.
It happens, for your eyes (eyes of the forest),
to envision at times a hunt — a dream.
In a pile of red leaves, a place of rest,
I think of laying a slain rabbit beneath your head.
Calls of horns and chases through fords,
from dawn’s hour until the moonlit times,
constantly entice us, toward valleys, toward heights,
to become, like them, untamed beings.
Yet always, again and again, like swords, the poplars
stand in opposition. We are defeated without battles,
in the painful city, shadows among shadows —
forgetting hunters, sunlight, and leaves.
Please, clap, engage, and… stay tuned for the next story…! But, most importantly, a profound thank you to each one of you. Your unwavering support has been invaluable.
Julia Kalman 