Dan Enache | + Follow Poet |
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In the waiting of the late dusk

In the waiting of the late dusk,
Where the semi-circular arch stretches,
Hills and fields capture me in a dream,
And the house of life hides in the evening.
Memories are lost in the play of shadows,
In the depths of the park where dreams sleep,
And the old lindens, with hearts yet to be born,
Remember times without norms.
Under their canopy, where flowers enchant,
The secrets of life lie in silence.
When the light fades, another light sings,
Calling us from the shadows towards the sun in its sack.
But on days when the lindens bloom,
Their aromas, like a tale of longing,
Envelop us in magic, gently bringing us back
To times when the heart was a flight.
Lacy hats strolling under leaves,
Breathing perfumes that words cannot capture,
Only the bees, in their dance, know those sounds,
Of nature winding itself in fragrances.
And under these lindens, which carry ancient stories,
Our lives, like book pages, unfold,
With a cover of flowers, with souls at the gate,
While the rain of glowing grapes teaches us to smile.
In the serenade of summer, where dreams are born,
On trees flowing over houses in waves,
Hopes secretly ignite, not willing to fade,
In an eternal and astral play of flowers and light.

Copyright © Dan Enache | Year Posted 2025

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