Copses, and wind, and eighteen years aglow...
The street where chestnuts and acacias grow,
spring in a pool is born and will persist,
the days by the remembrance now are kissed...
O, girl, who have a lovely violin waist,
where is our Latin book, where is it placed,
so smudged and full of verbs that made us grieve,
and distichs lame, and boring, and naive?
And in your violet eyes you always let
to gather poems not translated yet,
and when you walked so gently, like a deer,
you made behind a rare rhyme to appear...
The stars on Danube's bed would slowly crawl,
we used to count them, floating with them all,
the water lilies dizzy made the moon,
we learned the word “forever” very soon.
Cathedrals from the willows bowed at dawn
our boat so gently floated on and on,
towards a silent land that pleased the eye.
The thoughts – white seagulls soaring to the sky.
Our secret kiss, so hot, tasted for sure
like blackberries when they are big, mature,
sweet, bloody colored, with a bitter drop,
a vortex rising quickly to the top.
And on the golden beaches wide and fair
the sun put laurel crowns upon our hair,
my Danube girl with whispers full of warmth,
my girl with locks that seem to come from north...
Hey, groves of dreams and chestnut trees in row,
wind, sand and eighteen years that really glow...
Translator: Octavian Cocoş
see more poems written by: Mihu Dragomir
