MIHAELA BÃBUŞANU

The empty bench - The first love over Still too much haze.

The linden scent - Heating the kettle Sleep-spiders

I react childishly To the mature wickednesses That burden my tonus Each day

Bitterly hot And salty sweet Your spicy love Blew my taste

Rothmans Blue Cola red Odobesti Yellow Dark with grief

Who ever still believes That the spring Still sniffs at its own scents When everywhere Stinks with oblivion?

The spring chases away its announcers Over dead places with dull people My birthday knocks urgently at my window The fishes die in crowds in poisoned waters

I witness the moment passing by, in fear I add it to the misfortune Of my sun sign and I rebel Helpless with my fist Held out against My shattered shoulder: A chance of nowadays predictions

Tasty sweet water fish The fishermen caught you And now they are slashing you...

Blue sea, enigmatic sea... My ships drowned Let my sea divers do their job To find at least my masts

Epochs and urns Gone together Into the past Joined by historians, Convictions and cigarettes Tapped on the end By yellowish fingers on documents

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.

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

My lover is left to be just a high pile of memories Now is the time to archive And I don\'t know what register should I use.

Getting off the passion train I am searching for my silhouette lost beyond the past

I am the mirror Your tinted betrayal is no longer to be clearly seen Taking apart the present from the past You keep on being that rugged cliff so hard for me to get over.

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 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.

Mon âme est si pleine de silence Que tu peux entendre l\'amour Gémissant et rampant vers toi