MIHAELA BÃBUŞANU

Le lilas pousse obèse du repos éternel du grand-père. Ses os dispersés tiennent toujours le pouvoir, même au-delà de la mort

Le porche vert se ferme pour dormir L\'odeur de tilleul a chauffé la bouilloire du thé pour le dîner

Je te manque tous les jours. Les jours s\'étalent par-dessus les carreaux dans ma cuisine vers l\'oubli Je remplis ma bouilloire de café De cet épais marc de café l\'espoir s\'élève toujours

Les flocons de neige mouillés tombent. Le soleil gaspille sa grandeur par-dessus nos corps Mes yeux brillent évidemment Ton bras fort. ..peut-être...qu\'est-ce que je sais... ? Esquisse de

We wait for hope to grow in our hands The dust on our soles to slip into oblivion And in its place, proudly, spread chalk dust All over me, my beloved city

The winter of our passion lays over My mature eyelids, like a make-up Your face is blurred with love No one can tell a century passed by

The lilac grows obese From grandpa\'s eternal rest His scattered bones Still hold the power, even beyond death

The green porch closes for the bed time The linden scent heated the tea kettle for dinner

I miss you every day The days spread over the tiles in my kitchen towards oblivion I fill out my coffee kettle Out of those thick grounds the hope still raises

Wet snowflakes are falling The sun wastes its greatness over our bodies My eyes shine obviously Your strong arm...what do I know? Sketches poetry for me.

My soul is so full of silence That you can hear the love Wailing and crawling towards you

We wait for hope to grow in our hands The dust on our soles to slip into oblivion And in its place, proudly, spread chalk dust All over me, my beloved city

The winter of our passion lays over My mature eyelids, like a make-up Your face is blurred with love No one can tell a century passed by

The lilac grows obese From grandpa\'s eternal rest His scattered bones Still hold the power, even beyond death

The green porch closes for the bed time The linden scent heated the tea kettle for dinner

I miss you every day The days spread over the tiles in my kitchen towards oblivion I fill out my coffee kettle Out of those thick grounds the hope still raises

Wet snowflakes are falling The sun wastes its greatness over our bodies My eyes shine obviously Your strong arm...what do I know? Sketches poetry for me.