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Poem

In a dream world, where reality unravels like a fine fabric,
you conjured a being that cannot exist under this blue sky,
no healer can soothe the longing for her, no poet can tame,
her shadow wandering through days and nights, restless and ever-present.
We met in a year when everything seemed to be just an illusion,
when the powers of the world faded with a deep sigh,
everything was in mourning, bowed under the heavy burden of suffering,
only the graves seemed fresh under the empty and merciless sky.
Without lights, the Bahlui flowed like a dark wave of tar,
a deep night surrounded us like a fortress of cold silence,
and then, when my voice called you from the depths of my heart,
I didn't even know what I was doing, lost in a vague and misunderstood dream.
You came to me, guided by a star through the late autumn mist,
stepping over the dry leaves of a tragic and ephemeral season,
in that house forever desolate with memories and longing,
from where the flight of burned poems rose and vanished into nothingness.
Thus, we dream and lose ourselves in illusions woven from unexpected desires,
where shadows become real and reality slowly unravels,
where the voices of the past pierce the deep silence of the present,
in a melancholic dance of souls that never find rest.

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