Visit to my parental home
House that my home was
You hide in silence every evening
And under the stars you prolong
Kind, heavy as a nice thought,
Your shadow in the moonlight
That touches my hand shadow.
I cross timidly the doorstep –
For a time, I don’t feel my heart
And barely entered the hallway
Memories flowed into my soul –
Old memories, even newer
That pull back my time.
From the icon with the beginnings,
That's there since I know myself,
Silent faces look at me
And kindly urge me again to be
For my mom, for my dad
A child through the whole house.
And I walk on my mom’s carpet
Waved by her preparing dowry,
Photos smile to me from frames
Gently bordered by nice towels,
On the walls in vivid colours
Thousand flowers sewn in points;
And on the bed, a bedspread,
3D-like woven with a rod,
It is a fantastic overture
Written in the nights with snow
At the loom with four heddles
Wide as many, many skeins.
The candle plays its flame:
Thin shadows on the walls
Squeeze each other, and again
Gush in dramatic crashes
Of bright yellow torrents
From corners full by darkness ...
My heart rhythmically runs:
Beats a hot sarabanda –
I feel, I’ve everything and nothing
From the house that’s my home:
I’ve parents that are no longer,
I have a sky that is my land,
I have myself just as I am
And I see me passing through time ...
My thoughts written on the wind
Return to me one by one
When I walk home under the moon,
Where the tranquillity is ... the master.
July 16 2016, Burcioaia