When bow my forehead on my hand
My vagrant thought escapes from here
And think you're under my command,
For I'm your mistress, O, my dear!
And also think, like in the past,
That you adore me with your eye
And with a heart sad and harassed
You long for me and deeply sigh.
Then lots of things in sky confined
Or in the stories meant to be
Pass quickly through my crazy mind
Because I deem you're loving me.
But then I jerk and from my hand
I lift my forehead tough and grave
And waking up I understand
I'm not a mistress, but a slave.
Translator: Octavian Cocoş
see more poems written by: Veronica Micle
