Share this story
Close X
Switch to Desktop Site

Wandering Like The Smoke

Jewels of Light and Quiet

To my brothers Petre and Stefan Maybe there is a cry left in the leaves of the forest Maybe there is a smile left on the apple tree blossom, Maybe you can still hear a circle spinning softly Our father's heavy sigh, still coming from the truth.

Maybe the locust trees come out of their trunks in madness And a long whistle breaks through the whitewashed walls. The kind snake of our old house is still seeking to find us As we wander around like smoke scattered by the wind.

About these ads

I hear the other children calling us from the street And our young horses neighing out on the grass-covered fields. I wish right now we were again like in the beginning To wake up the whole forest with our games around noon.

Translated from Romanian by Catalina Bajenaru

Follow Stories Like This
Get the Monitor stories you care about delivered to your inbox.