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Vasile Serban Poem
Sings the story at twilight
When the moon is just rising,
Sings a simple troubadour
The short tale of life.
How a fine boy,
Born in a palace,
A palace like crystal,
Became a proud man.
*
You were born on a bed of flowers,
Beside you, your father the king,
Your mother, the queen
And you, the handsome prince.
All the scholars
Praised you in thought,
While the priests and people
Offered their prayers to you.
They’d all waited,
For a lord to be born,
A future king
To guard them from evil.
Feasts and celebrations
Were held in your honor,
As both the serfs
And the rich danced together.
In your tender childhood,
The courtiers marveled
At how handsome and skillful
The prince seemed to be.
With his angelic face
And composed manner,
He easily won over
All the palace dwellers.
*
But behold, as years passed
The prince grew to adulthood,
A pleasant shining sun,
A bright sky, mantle, and shield.
Beaming with love and pride,
His mighty father, the king,
And the whole world praised
Prince Alexander.
On that April day,
Calling in great secrecy
His son to his bedside,
The old king said:
“I am old, dear child,
And illness is taking me.
Go now, dear child,
Choose yourself a bride.”
Our prince left for the world
With a retinue of ten,
Riding a beautiful chestnut
Like none other there had been.
*
Slowly pacing the kingdom
Searching the land, far and wide,
Through beautiful noble courts,
And vast countryside.
One evening at dusk,
He spotted her, finally,
A specter peering from the rocks,
The most beautiful girl.
Shrouded in mystery,
A rosebud with a slender waist,
She greeted the weary prince
With gentle brown eyes, blushing face.
He remembered; daughter of Tavoi,
A poor old man from Tashke,
Not of noble descent
And had only a simple boat.
He recalled her help the evening before
With the boat, to cross over
The raging waters of Rhene,
From one bank to the other.
With a warm, crystal voice
And her gentle brown eyes,
She made the prince lose himself
In her feminine charms.
Such rare elegance
He had never seen,
Neither in noble courts
Nor from a very good mother.
On that enchanted night,
He immediately made an oath
This girl would be
His precious wife.
*
Enveloped in the spell of night,
With the moon as a holy star,
The old man kissed his daughter
And lamented at her leaving.
“You are called by the longing for love,”
Tavoi said to his daughter.
“You are saddened,” said the girl,
“By the fire that burns in me.”
“It is the fire of love, child,
That burns without ceasing,
It calls you today, unceasingly,
On the path to love.”
“On the road of life you will go.
Soon you will forget,
The old house in Tashke,
And your dear, old father.”
The girl burst into tears.
Hiding her disappointment,
She cried out tenderly,
“I will stay with you, father!”
A soldier, hiding in the shadows
Dazed by all he heard,
Reported to the prince
The unsettling news.
Alas, even amidst passion
For the prince, and his bright offer,
The girl would not be compelled
To leave her aging father.
Disappointed, the prince resumed
His quest for a bride
To honor his father's wishes
And soothe his wounded pride.
*
On the long road ahead,
Wandering in the world,
He was to see many things,
Far from his kingdom.
He saw strange animals,
He saw the great sea,
He saw palaces and shacks,
He even saw a witch.
“Turn back, noble prince,
A girl is waiting for you.
I see her in the crystal globe!
I see her waiting for you!”
Impassioned, he fled
And in his great flight,
He rushed through the mountains
To Ramira, the girl in the night.
It was as if he could hear her voice
Calling his name with longing.
In his mind, he saw her face,
Her enchanting smile.
*
Meanwhile, alone at her threshold,
With big, tear-filled eyes,
The girl mourned her father,
The boatman, named Tavoi.
Left alone in the world
Without any help,
The poor girl seemed lost
Without her old father.
But one day at dusk,
On the road from the north,
She saw in the distance
Her prince riding.
The beautiful girl rejoiced,
Handkerchief wiping her face,
That no one would see
Her tear-streaked face.
They met in a secret hour,
When everything seemed lost,
Words exchanged for kisses,
Impassioned in the night.
*
In the morning that followed,
On their way to the palace,
They joyfully crossed
His entire kingdom.
Seeing the land was beautiful
And the kindness of the world,
They pledged to be one;
The prince and his beautiful girl.
At the threshold of summer,
Echoes of joy filled the palace,
And the whole kingdom rejoiced,
For the boy who was to be king.
Then the courtiers rejoiced,
The poor mother was happy,
And the good king delighted,
His tears wiped away.
Amazed by the beautiful girl,
By her enchanting smile
They immediately agreed to hold
A wedding like none before.
A grand imperial wedding
Like none had ever seen,
With musicians and acrobats,
With various kinds of dishes.
The moon rejoiced in the sky,
And the stars danced,
The sun laughed continuously,
And the blooming fields laughed too.
From the heavens, they still looked down
And watched over their treasure,
The old boatman Tavoi
With Ramira's mother.
Copyright © Vasile Serban | Year Posted 2025
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Details |
Vasile Serban Poem
The perfect convict, without a name, without thoughts, destined to obey in a universe that weighs my mortal soul on the scale of immortality, I was born to die at the silent demand of my parents who wished to live their future by passing on to me genes that have no future.
The signatory by absence, I question the duty to be born in a simulacrum world, where no one chooses but is merely chosen.
Granting me the role of a colorful character through a manifesto-oracle that signs as fate and solidifies the dogma of a foolish fanaticism of believing in a world that appears differently, I was forced to assimilate the excess from the Absolute because the merciless fate was written with a quill right on my skin that holds the bones of a scoundrel.
Brought into a world that wants me to parade as a good individual in a collective that leaves at the entrance a ticket where death, nonchalantly imitating an accountant, signs with legible, firm handwriting under our date of death, I was not given the strength to fight, so I am heading towards a disaster disguised in a concept that tries to give life value and meaning, simulating the death of a body destined to return to the earth.
A curtain rises, I choose a little chair and look at the screen that presents me as an banal, a good-for-nothing, a child born in an era where men hide in their own bodies. In a surreal play with landscapes from a world that has no truth, I am the actor without a name, without a country, without a shred of future, because the drama playing on the floating screen seems to be that… I am an impostor.
The film hasn't even started well when a procession of servants, stepping imperiously on the carpet, announces to me that death has chosen my day to die and urges me, without shame, to go out into the corridor.
Resigned, I carry my being towards the corridor where death awaits me with the actor's ticket and shows me the short path to the floating paradise where I am again awaited to be part of this horrifying cycle: to be born against my will, without clothes, without eyes, in a world where life has lost its purpose, on the day when it sent the first man to death.
Copyright © Vasile Serban | Year Posted 2024
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