Nelly Tsenova : Flight
ATÎT
Ştiu. E amurg, e frig de cer, e mult tîrziu,
Şi doar bacanta soarelui am vrut sa-ţi fiu,
Poate izvor de curcubeu peste urît,
O piersică la sudul lacrimei, atît.
Abur de ziuă, de copac, de abur stea,
O zburătoare petrecînd odihna ta,
Reîntregindu-te frumos te-aş fi-nălţat
Peste zeiţele-armoniei împarat.
Dar aici viii umblă morţi şi nu mai ştiu
Cît lung amurg e, poate frig de cer, tîrziu
Retează sfîşierea nervii, iar mă dor
Tragice umblete, zăpezi ţipînd a zbor.
NO MORE
I know. It's dusk, it's cold of sky, it's late,
Just a bacchante of the sun to you I wished to be,
Maybe a spring of rainbow over the sadness,
A peach at the south of your tear, no more.
A steam of day, a steam of tree, a star of steam,
A flaying bird escorting your rest,
Beautifully completing you I should raised you
A king over the godesses of harmony.
But here the living walk like dead and I no more know
How long the twilight is, maybe a cold of sky, late
The laceration cut off my nerves, and hurt me again
Tragical walks, snows screaming of flight.
NO MORE
I know. It's dusk, it's cold of sky, it's late,
Just a bacchante of the sun to you I wished to be,
Maybe a spring of rainbow over the sadness,
A peach at the south of your tear, no more.
A steam of day, a steam of tree, a star of steam,
A flaying bird escorting your rest,
Beautifully completing you I should raised you
A king over the godesses of harmony.
But here the living walk like dead and I no more know
How long the twilight is, maybe a cold of sky, late
The laceration cut off my nerves, and hurt me again
Tragical walks, snows screaming of flight.
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