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Best Poems Written by Dan Enache

Below are the all-time best Dan Enache poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

Details | Dan Enache Poem

Do not get lost in the dream of a poet

Do not get lost in the dream of a poet,
Whose heart is an ocean deep with thoughts and feelings,
He will navigate through each of your moments, without purpose,
Enveloping in verses the color of your eyes, your smile, unknowingly losing you.
In every word of yours, he will seek a universe,
Spending sleepless nights deciphering the hidden messages in your gaze.
He will agonize over a lost kiss, an unknown goodbye,
And create fantastic worlds, filled with doubts and shadows, in his poet's realm.
Do not fall in love with a poet, with his burdened soul,
For he will submerge you in the waters of his ceaseless love,
And you will feel overwhelmed by his ever-present affection.
And when your kiss becomes a mere obligation,
And your touch just a mechanical gesture,
His heart will bleed, and suffer even more.
He will analyze every thought, every moment, in a labyrinth of words,
Wondering if they are all figments of his mind.
And when you choose to drift apart,
He will wake up in the middle of the night, rewinding time,
Searching for mistakes, questioning: "Where did I go wrong? What have I done?"
The truth is, I am a poet, with the soul of a deep dreamer,
So do not fall in love with me,
Unless you're ready to love me in every moment, forever.

Details | Dan Enache Poem

In the silent night, when the moon pours its silver over the world

In the silent night, when the moon pours its silver over the world,
I walk through the garden of shadows, seeking lost echoes,
I do not blame your steps for not staying,
But I accuse myself, the one who sought harmonies in your song,
The one who sought signs in your silence.
I do not blame your hands for crushing the butterflies,
But I take the blame for offering them a garden to rest their fragile wings,
I, the one who believed that seasons could be reborn from ashes,
The one who dreamed that the heart could be bandaged and restarted.
I do not blame your departure,
But I take the blame for loving a stranger,
I, the one who believed that love could break all barriers,
The one who hoped that your eyes would look back, even once.
I do not blame your indifference,
But I accuse myself for not being able to free my heart from its cage,
I, the one who wrote poems on the edge of an abyss,
The one who believed that perhaps, in my madness, I would be heard.
I do not blame your silence,
But neither do I blame myself for not ceasing to love,
I, the one who carried an unwritten story in my soul,
The one who sought answers in the stars and found only shadows.
In the silent night, when the moon pours its silver over the world,
I walk through the garden of shadows, seeking lost echoes,
And in every breeze, in every rustle of leaves,
I find a part of myself, the one who loved without asking for anything in return.

Details | Dan Enache Poem

In the silent blizzard of my thoughts, I reflect upon the madness that unites the crowds

In the silent blizzard of my thoughts, I reflect upon the madness that unites the crowds,
Where the masses of individuals consider all who are not part of the collective madness to be insane,
Anyone who crosses beyond this thick wall of conformity,
It is natural for the masses to hate the man of truth: he is a sower of storms in their noisy calm.
With your lies, you feel safe, building walls of convenient fabrications,
And then, from the shadows he appears, unsettling the waters of your noisy tranquility,
He provokes your doubt, shakes your blind faith in the dogmas that have shaped you,
The truth, always in contradiction with the mask of the crowds, shines like a cold light in the night.
Truth is individual, like a solitary star on a dark velvet sky,
And the masses are not interested in truth, but in comfort, in simplistic consolation.
The masses seek only that bittersweet convenience without making any effort,
Preferring to relax in those comfortable illusions that serve only as a temporary balm for empty souls.
The masses are not composed of explorers, adventurers, or courageous people,
Who venture into the unknown without fear, risking their lives to discover meaning,
To understand life in all its complexity and dark beauty.
The masses only want to hear pleasant lies, to remain in their cozy corners, shielded from the challenges of truth.
The crowd hates those who want to be UNIQUE INDIVIDUALS,
Those who seek their own destiny, a path tread by individual steps,
A different lifestyle, carved in the stone of their own will.
In the depth of a conscience that flows like a river of silences,
I feel how the tranquility of conventional lies fades,
In a world where truth rarely finds its place,
A world where my name is just one among many,
But my soul screams to be heard, to be recognized in the silence of the crowd.
Along the path of shadows elongated by the eternal sunset,
In a world of broken dreams and fragile hopes,
We seek the lights of truth, deep and dark,
Where each step is a question without an answer.
Truth calls us, a burning call within,
The masses will never understand this call,
Preferring to drift in the grand ocean of their false calm,
But we, those who seek, those who dare,
Will traverse this silent blizzard, carrying truth in our souls,
Knowing that truth is itself a sublime form of solitude.
And thus, in our solitary solitude, we find ourselves,
We discover the untrodden path that only the brave can follow,
In a melancholic waltz of existence, where answers come and go,
But the search, the search continues, like an old song in the night,
And the truth remains – a fragile balance between the calm of lies and the storm of reality.
And in this quest, we become who we truly are,
Not just an echo in the crowd, but a unique, clear voice,
That shines in the darkness, defying the collective madness,
And finally, our truth, eternal and personal, offers us that true peace.

Details | Dan Enache Poem

Happiness, a silent dawn, is born beneath the eyelids of sleep

Happiness, a silent dawn, is born beneath the eyelids of sleep,
Smiling like a stolen kiss from paradise,
In the dream of the night that just melted into the morning light.
It is the love for the morning
You always despised, now illuminated by a different hope.
Happiness, the sudden revelation of a smile
Curled on your cheeks, a secret unknown,
Is being a jester of your own inner world.
Happiness, a mad dance amidst daily chores,
Is the energy that fills your soul,
A burning desire to set everything in order, to make everything shine.
Happiness, staring fixedly at a blank page for days,
Is not knowing what to write about,
Because you are too elated, too full of life to find the words.
And yet, I dread this:
To trade the moon that embraced me tenderly,
To trade the nights where the ceiling grew weary
Of my lost gazes,
To trade the darkness that consoled me
For a small, cold glimpse of light.
I do not know how to be happy
Without feeling I’ve done a great injustice to the universe.
I am in constant penitence
For these empty pages, for the unfulfilled dreams.
I have survived the vast ocean of sorrow;
I fear I cannot survive the calm shore of happiness.
Happiness, a fragile dream in which I lose myself,
Is like a spider web, delicate and ephemeral,
Stretched between the silently falling stars,
It embraces me with its fragile arms,
And I fear to break it,
To chase it away with my burning, unbridled desires.
In the depths of the night, I seek solace
In the darkness, I find my peace,
But happiness, my rare and precious guest,
Whispers stories I cannot listen to without losing myself.
I glimpse it among the shadows of my thoughts,
But I retreat, fearful,
Not to lose it, not to lose myself in its overwhelming light.

Details | Dan Enache Poem

I just want to speak to her, to tell her what whispers through my soul like a breeze

I just want to speak to her, to tell her what whispers through my soul like a breeze,
But every time I try, the words remain buried deep,
Hidden in the corners of my heart like undiscovered treasures,
Drowning in silence, lost between thoughts and my voice, unheard.
I don't need grand poems, nor rhymes carefully chosen from the stars,
Just a simple verse, like a magic key, to unlock the quiet,
Which seems louder than my heartbeat in the night,
I wish to tell her how her presence lights up my days like a gentle sunrise,
But the conversation I imagine never finds its way out,
Will there be someone to lend me a few words, like a spell,
A melody, a spark, to transform this heavy and dense silence,
Into something she can truly hear and feel deep within her?
Thus, I remain a prisoner of silence, with a soul longing to soar,
Hoping that one day I'll discover that voice to deliver my message to her,
And show her how, in my heart, she is the song that echoes eternally,
An echo of light and love, to warm her days and nights.

Details | Dan Enache Poem

I am tired now, dear friend, please do not trouble me anymore

I am tired now, dear friend, please do not trouble me anymore,  
How long can someone walk beside you if you keep running from everyone?  
I considered you mine, I followed you at every turn,  
But think, if I stop one day, you’ll find yourself alone, lost in your steps.  

Learn to walk together; this is your chance—not everyone will be like me,  
Someone who stays by your side without complaints, without demands, without asking for anything in return.  
Relationships are not easy; walking together is a fine art,  
Your anger and pride have silently torn apart so many bridges between souls.  

Those who try to stop you are not your enemies; they care for you,  
Before you leave every path behind, listen to those who have remained faithful to you.  
I have understood your pain, but do not lose yourself on this road of loneliness,  
This time will pass; acknowledge the truth before it consumes you.  

I am tired now, but I still stand here for you, watching in silence,  
The choice is yours—will you walk with me, or will you lose yourself too?  
Between us stretches the ocean of decisions, and the waves of truth crash upon the shore,  
It is time to decide, dear friend—where will your heart lead your steps?

Details | Dan Enache Poem

In the shattered mirror of hollow empathy, I see fragments of myself drifting

In the shattered mirror of hollow empathy, I see fragments of myself drifting,
Like ash butterflies dancing in the cold wind of unspoken truth,
And their words—"I can't empathize"—are silver arrows piercing through
The illusory veil of superficial consolation, revealing the inner garden
Where I alone grow the cucumbers of wisdom, where I water the flowers of courage.
And I hear footsteps fading away down the corridor of memory, the steps of friends hurried
To their daily markets, to the Turkish dramas that swallow their evenings,
Leaving behind only the echo of a pat on the shoulder and a worn-out phrase
"Don't worry, it will all pass"—a devalued coin in the ATM of compassion,
While I remain here, in the fortress of self, counting my resources.
Ah, how strange this revelation—that in the absence of foreign comfort
I discover my own healing hands, my own wellspring of strength!
Like a tree finding water in its depths when the sky refuses to weep,
I learn to be self-sufficient, to measure my garden of limits with steady steps,
To cultivate my own remedies, to be my own sun and my own rain.
I no longer knock on foreign doors begging for understanding like a crust of bread,
But build from the bricks of imperfections a temple of maturity,
Where the echo of my steps resounds with fulfillment, not with a void to be filled,
Where each scar is a medal of self-sufficiency won in battle,
And where loneliness is no longer a fear, but a throne from which I contemplate my strength.

Details | Dan Enache Poem

In the realm of beguiling shadows where illusions paint the sky

In the realm of beguiling shadows where illusions paint the sky,
The bias for balance is ignored, as reason takes its flight.
Disregarding the light of truth, madness steers the moral tales,
Woven through repetitive histories, hearts are chained in the prisons of insanity.
Divide and conquer, their ancient script,
In this illusion of choice, we step on a false stage.
Stones are thrown at the poet's fragile glass house,
Hypocrisy overshadows common sense, allowing deceit to pass.
With pen and sword, deceit weaves its dark attire,
Propaganda, a wolf dressed in sheep’s clothing entire.
In a minefield of twisted visions, obscurity feeds on souls,
Nurturing the monsters born from the cries of broken foals.
Forgotten are the teachings of shattered hearts,
While hope falls, a victim of unspoken words.
Oppression and inequity shout loudly in the tears of the privileged,
As the waters of decadence spill, unloosing the poet's glass walls.
Through the mist of silent nights, hope dares not retreat,
Under the weight of a starless sky, it stumbles on weary feet.
Yet within the shadowed depths, a truth barely glows,
A beacon through the darkness, ever softly it shows.
For in the darkest corners, truth leaves an eternal trace,
A faint echo, a whispered note, in search of its rightful place.
In the heart where illusions crumble, the soul finds sweet release,
And the poet’s glass house, though fragile, finds true peace.
Mystical winds of destiny, spread your veiled wings,
Through twilight realms and silent screams, where the lost heart sings.
In a dance of shadows and light, the mystic path reveals,
Where the lines of fate intertwine with the soul's forgotten tales.

Details | Dan Enache Poem

In a boundless night, I slip through the veils of undefined time

In a boundless night, I slip through the veils of undefined time,
where I glimpsed you as a star lost in an ocean of abyssal dreams,
in a silk delirium of shadows dancing ceaselessly,
where the golden horizon melts dreams into dawn, like fire melting brass.
With hands that have never touched you, I reached out like a bird to the sky,
whispering your name, a sweet echo in the unknown air of the heart,
and when you came, like a breath of wind bringing spring—
I did not lose myself in wonder, but felt the fullness of eternity.
I just sighed deeply, like a spring finding its way to the river,
as if I had waited for ages to immerse my soul in your presence,
the moment your steps enter my waking world, like a dance of spirits,
like an ancient longing finally fulfilled, like a story told by the wind.
The essence of time unravels into strips of light flowing like sand,
and I, a silent witness to this secret meeting, become part of the story,
I feel how silence turns to music and how each sigh is an eternal verse,
and how each sigh transforms into an eternal echo, like a call from the depths.
On the edge of the dream, your outline rises like a banner in the wind,
as natural as the sunrise embracing the mountains, a new beginning,
and I, a traveler between two worlds, recognize you as a part of me,
that was never lost, only hidden in the shadow of desire.

Details | Dan Enache Poem

We were born with the gift of healing in our blood

We were born with the gift of healing in our blood, we did not become healers along life's winding path,
We came as springs of solace, carrying the essence of healing like an ancient and sacred song,
Some of us are still searching for our deep roots in the soil of our being, discovering ourselves in the silence of time,
We came as storytellers, not by chance, but because we carried stories in our hearts always,
We are the songs of our ancestors, alive in every whisper of the wind passing through the vines of memories,
Some of us are still seeking our voice among the echoes of the past, weaving threads of gold and silver from history,
We were born artists, we did not become painters or sculptors under the weight of the world,
We came with art in our souls, we are rainbows woven into the fabric of life, vibrating with every color,
Some of us are still drawing our outlines on the canvas of destiny, seeking our own shades,
We did not become writers, dancers, musicians, peacemakers, but arrived as such spirits,
We are the symphony of creation, some still discovering their rhythm in the vast orchestra of existence,
We did not learn love along the journey, but came as love, we are the heart that beats eternally,
Some of us are still following the call, seeking to reveal love in every gesture, in every word,
We are explorers of the soul, sculpting reality with our bold and silent dreams,
As we seek meaning in the delicate weave of existence, we lose and find ourselves in the cosmic dance,
Like stars burning with pure passion, guiding seekers of truth along the paths of light and shadows.