Romulus Câmpan Maramureșanu

They're all gone now. Swallowed down by windy pipes gone by... Some hairy brushes sinking low below Those every seconds left untouched. Where's time now mum? Where is it m'am? So fond of

as long as any of my dreams stays hidden why should I bother not to dream. confused, maybe unknown, I drink of You and wonder. throughout my wanderings alongside sides and signs and

when tender mercies mourn above forgotten mornings, with sand beneath the alabaster dreams, how few the sounds are of unsung old memories, unworthy on the parchment of what seems, to be just

Corn\'s on my steps... so goldish yellow like the remembered shadows of a forgotten submarine. So many seeds... like soldiers ordered back from an unwanted battle. Green horns... so long

it\'s so hard to live like a cube when the square hasn\'t been invented yet...

Lame mirror, maimed reflection of another heaven; with limping saints unshadowed by some rays of wonder; some stories told to one-another about a heaven empty, with no beach… I’m tempted to

But who’s this blind-child of my lonely memory, unwanted morning yet unfollowed by another? Whose time we chew, whose banner do we tear apart; why bother? Alone, bewitched by what complete

Banned from all begging songs were I... As morning came, and buds broke free their long awaited colours, I listened for another hush, but dumb my soul remained, in silence other than my

I would remember any time available for thought. I could avenge all memories chewable, or less... I should attain for nothing more than senses... I... Me, why? Why no one else\'

Poor eyes, framing a storm of melting senses, painstakingly written all over a canvas of dreams... Poor brain, hunting a hoard of images too pure to remain sounds of a melting echo... Poor

Of scars and bars I am remembered, Long time ago when sheep we were, and lambs; When every “tender” felt like thundered, Within the silence of the lamps… Some other moments I may wish to

A new year? Crumbs of an old, wept over… lumped into unslept dreams…

As time goes by, “and” slowly becomes eternity’s pathetic substitute…

As time goes by, skin turns slowly into another shade of your younger soul...

More than beyond, remains the seed of beneath; Leaves and thorns arguing for supremacy over faded brows… Round and around, years and lives, marching over worn-out hopes of honey fields and

Kipusztult mind, az énekbõl a rigó, Sok, apró csont úgy szennyezi a tájt, Túl sok az érzésben a szúró ’s vágó, ’S az emlék íze mindig fájt. Megvertek, köptek ’s szerettek is, tegnap, Egy kevés