Under the brass sky of Iashy city, our steps dance in the night
Under the brass sky of Iashy city, our steps dance in the night,
Through dusty streets where old buildings hide forgotten stories,
With beer mugs like ephemeral treasures in hands that tremble,
Between reality and dream, between stage and whispers of the gentle wind.
We justify ourselves with a single sonnet floating among the lit stars,
With sweet madness sparking flames in hearts and pride that burns,
While the world retreats into the dark nests of routines,
And the plasticine uniforms melt under cardboard gazes.
You, lovers of frozen statues, hidden in your homes at evening's hour,
We walk dreaming among gas lamps trembling in the wind,
In a night full of secrets, with toy revolvers that twitch,
Embracing the darkness that holds us with arms of smoke.
What justifies our madness? Perhaps only the fact that at dawn,
With awakened souls full of stars, we will face mornings without return,
Promising only memories sculpted in the light of a sunrise,
That will swallow us without leaving traces in the flowing sand of time.
Friends and foes are just faces in a passing game of fate,
The flag waves like a story told at the edge of eternity,
And so it has always been, and so it will remain, in the eternity of a dance,
For you are those who watch from the balcony of life, contemplating.
And we are those silhouettes that fade at the edge of vibrant dawns,
Dancing against the backdrop of a sky painted in hues of a reddened sunset,
And thus, our story ends and begins anew,
In an endless dance of life and dreams, in the city of Iashy.
Copyright ©
Dan Enache
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