This book is registred at Copyright Office, Library of Congress, Washington. (Registration: TXu-793-679 )
This book was published by Hyperion Publishing House, Craiova, Romania in July, 2002 ( ISBN 973-9395-35-X )
Sometime,even if we die
We still remember...
* * * * * * * * * *
White birds never die.
Like flowers, they are eternal.
Always, I believe in flowers and white bird
Honey, come with me
showing to you,
only to you,
how marvel is the world of flowers
and white birds.
*
* *
This autumn is coming
like a fancy.
I'm cold
and I closed the door.
It's raining
and you never came.
Oh, everything is dead
in this autumn like a fancy.
*
* *
Alone in the city of stone
I live in the district of stone
on street of stone
in the house of stone.
Here, everyone is of stone
with heart of stone.
Oh, God!
I'm so alone
in the city of stone.
*
* *
It's autumn and I'm thinking
alone in a strange town
that nobody knows me.
Maybe is better so,
wondering on streets,
alone, in a strange town.
*
* *
Now, I never look away.
The autumn urge me forward.
Leaves free from wind
run in the woods.
Oh, leaves, leaves!...
Take me with you...
*
* *
What a winter!
It's so cold!
What disappointment!
Having nothing in your pocket,
only listening the wind
in the night
and lonely, lonely,
thinking somewhere faraway...
Dream and be happy!
Forget that tomorrow
you have another day of living ...
*
* *
Now, when roses are blossoming
in the sunshine,
Honey, let's go in the gardens.
Let's go
when we are young like roses.
Look!
the delicacy of pales
shows us the way of love...
Maybe tomorrow, like them,
we make old.
Honey, let's love roses now,
in the garden of life.
*
* *
The gold of your fingers
is a metal
like any other metal.
The gold does not take off
your old age
and loneliness.
Gold is a metal
like any other metal.
*
* *
In the evenings
I open the window
to see the charm of the night.
But I'm too tired.
In the mornings
I open the window
to see the charm of the daybreak.
But I'm too tired.
Every day only work...
And so we make old.
*
* *
Communist view.
I cross alone the starve town in the night.
Ghosts at windows look the gray of the sky.
Cold and nobody is in the streets.
My footsteps ring on sidewalk
and the shadow lean more and more.
The death with her mowing
comes in the town.
*
* *
Look how this winter
is gone in the fields!
Sunday evening
and you didn't come.
Free under a cold sky
our years are gone
and all this story
seems to be very old.
*
* *
This autumn I'm thinking
to the loneliness of the seas,
shore solitude,
cold sand
and my ice - heart.
Oh, God, I am feeling like Ovidiu
exiled at the Black Sea.
*
* *
The swinging of the reed in the wind
it's so hard, as human despair.
The loneliness of the reed
it's our loneliness.
*
* *
The shivering of your shadow
is as the shivering of the moon over seas
in the blue nights.
I tremble for you,
I'm afraid that the Wind
will take you with him
over the sheen of the seas.
*
* *
When the dawn is coming,
I'm thinking to you.
In the thick of oak woods
still are solitary deer pairs
and I'm dreaming to Arcadia.
Come my darling,
until the last white bird
will die!...
*
* *
The autumn is coming
see me crying.
I don't know
but there are years
run away...
On paths, in their shivering,
leaves are going for ever
and I wish
in the thick of the woods
lonely to die...
*
* *
Every morning
the sun rises in peace
over the mountains
over the seas...
The herbs call me
from the depth of the woods...
On the wild paths
I'm looking in my heart.
My soul is shivering...
Only the sun
rises in peace
every morning...
*
* *
The autumn with her leaves
I hear from the distance.
There are the signs
of our crossing ...
I wish nothing to know!...
Birds pierce in the sky
and, my wild soul remains
with the deer in the woods.
*
* *
Waiting for you
the autumn was coming
and I am maybe the shadow of a tree
or a path
near the forest and the lake.
*
* *
When out is raining
I am more alone.
I dream a house
somewhere at the countryside
with trees and gardens.
Thoughts, thoughts!...
When out is raining
I am more alone.
*
* *
I'm plunged in the silence of steppe,
in the loneliness of seas.
In the night, on wild shores
I'm listening the sound of the moon.
Thrilling of waves and lights
travel by the wind in the horizon.
The sadness of poet Ovidiu
is reflected in the bottom of the sea.
*
* *
As we aid the flowers
let's aid the poet,
as we aid white birds
let's aid the poet,
because the poet is so frail
as flowers and white birds.
*
* *
White nights are going
on fields, on steppe.
Moon is shivering over seas
and somewhere in the mountains snow.
Lonely, on paths I will go
in the depth of the woods
in cold
crying near the deer
with ice soul.
*
* *
It's autumn and maybe tomorrow
I will die on streets
and nobody take care.
It will be there
many leaves
and it will be raining everywhere.
It's autumn and maybe tomorrow.
*
* *
The spring is coming
much as a sign
remember us
that everything
is crossing...
Yes, the spring
is much as a sign.
*
* *
The way of Golgotha is so long
as long is our life.
We beat nails in our souls
one to each other
every day.
Only those who pray in the churches
poor and ill
know where is going
the way of Golgotha.
*
* *
I wait in quiet my end
near the garden of roses.
I know that my soul
will be a bird
flying in the sky
and I also know
that nothing will come back
and happiness
is the irreversible trifle
of our crossing...
I wait in quiet my end
near the garden of roses.
*
* *
The autumn of my mind
was going as leaves over seas.
Will come the coldness,
hard and wild
and I am the leafless oak
in the depth of the winter.
*
* *
In this world
we come alone
and alone we die,
we don't know why
and there are no reasons
to be sad.
*
* *
With an ice aye
I'm looking over woods
when winter comes.
Leaves, as bloody tears
are crying an paths.
Lonely, trees are shivering
under a cold sky.
Somewhere, in the mountains
I see a deer pairs
with ice hearts,
but I know that their warmly love
will cross over this cold winter.
*
* *
Sometimes,
I close my eyes
and I see
the sky and the sea,
the shore
and you,
walk lonely...
Late remembers
from a forget summer.
*
* *
If you are never listening
the music of violins
in blue nights,
a part of your soul is dead.
If you never wrote a poem
on the moving sand
near the sea and the sky,
a part of your soul is dead.
If you never stop
to listen the song of the birds
in the garden of life,
a part of your soul is death.
If you never think
at the loneliness of old age,
a part of your soul is death.
I stay at the window
and I'm looking over the world :
I see only a few people...
*
* *
Stones are never talking.
They are silent in their happiness.
Lonely,
I wish to be a stone
looking the sky and the seas,
forget the shore
where are my roots.
*
* *
From the window of my room
I'm looking to the factories area.
The trees seem to have no sense
as our life.
The autumn is coming
to take her leaves...
*
* *
I was looking in the mirror
to see my face.
What disappointment!
There isn't even a shadow...
*
* *
This autumn is coming
because I'm more tired
and old.
In the autumn
the flowers have no sense.
*
* *
The autumn is coming
alone on streets.
Cold and rain.
With white hair,
older and older,
as the leaves will die
so will die the poet.
It will come the winter
hard and wild.
But after the death
of my body,
I still hope,
in all my soul,
that the spring
will come again.
Poetry by Ioan Rusu
Read 338 times
Written on 2005-12-16 at 21:48
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Print text
This book was published by Hyperion Publishing House, Craiova, Romania in July, 2002 ( ISBN 973-9395-35-X )
Poetry book: Remembers of the life time
* * * * * * * * * *Sometime,even if we die
We still remember...
* * * * * * * * * *
White birds never die.
Like flowers, they are eternal.
Always, I believe in flowers and white bird
Honey, come with me
showing to you,
only to you,
how marvel is the world of flowers
and white birds.
*
* *
This autumn is coming
like a fancy.
I'm cold
and I closed the door.
It's raining
and you never came.
Oh, everything is dead
in this autumn like a fancy.
*
* *
Alone in the city of stone
I live in the district of stone
on street of stone
in the house of stone.
Here, everyone is of stone
with heart of stone.
Oh, God!
I'm so alone
in the city of stone.
*
* *
It's autumn and I'm thinking
alone in a strange town
that nobody knows me.
Maybe is better so,
wondering on streets,
alone, in a strange town.
*
* *
Now, I never look away.
The autumn urge me forward.
Leaves free from wind
run in the woods.
Oh, leaves, leaves!...
Take me with you...
*
* *
What a winter!
It's so cold!
What disappointment!
Having nothing in your pocket,
only listening the wind
in the night
and lonely, lonely,
thinking somewhere faraway...
Dream and be happy!
Forget that tomorrow
you have another day of living ...
*
* *
Now, when roses are blossoming
in the sunshine,
Honey, let's go in the gardens.
Let's go
when we are young like roses.
Look!
the delicacy of pales
shows us the way of love...
Maybe tomorrow, like them,
we make old.
Honey, let's love roses now,
in the garden of life.
*
* *
The gold of your fingers
is a metal
like any other metal.
The gold does not take off
your old age
and loneliness.
Gold is a metal
like any other metal.
*
* *
In the evenings
I open the window
to see the charm of the night.
But I'm too tired.
In the mornings
I open the window
to see the charm of the daybreak.
But I'm too tired.
Every day only work...
And so we make old.
*
* *
Communist view.
I cross alone the starve town in the night.
Ghosts at windows look the gray of the sky.
Cold and nobody is in the streets.
My footsteps ring on sidewalk
and the shadow lean more and more.
The death with her mowing
comes in the town.
*
* *
Look how this winter
is gone in the fields!
Sunday evening
and you didn't come.
Free under a cold sky
our years are gone
and all this story
seems to be very old.
*
* *
This autumn I'm thinking
to the loneliness of the seas,
shore solitude,
cold sand
and my ice - heart.
Oh, God, I am feeling like Ovidiu
exiled at the Black Sea.
*
* *
The swinging of the reed in the wind
it's so hard, as human despair.
The loneliness of the reed
it's our loneliness.
*
* *
The shivering of your shadow
is as the shivering of the moon over seas
in the blue nights.
I tremble for you,
I'm afraid that the Wind
will take you with him
over the sheen of the seas.
*
* *
When the dawn is coming,
I'm thinking to you.
In the thick of oak woods
still are solitary deer pairs
and I'm dreaming to Arcadia.
Come my darling,
until the last white bird
will die!...
*
* *
The autumn is coming
see me crying.
I don't know
but there are years
run away...
On paths, in their shivering,
leaves are going for ever
and I wish
in the thick of the woods
lonely to die...
*
* *
Every morning
the sun rises in peace
over the mountains
over the seas...
The herbs call me
from the depth of the woods...
On the wild paths
I'm looking in my heart.
My soul is shivering...
Only the sun
rises in peace
every morning...
*
* *
The autumn with her leaves
I hear from the distance.
There are the signs
of our crossing ...
I wish nothing to know!...
Birds pierce in the sky
and, my wild soul remains
with the deer in the woods.
*
* *
Waiting for you
the autumn was coming
and I am maybe the shadow of a tree
or a path
near the forest and the lake.
*
* *
When out is raining
I am more alone.
I dream a house
somewhere at the countryside
with trees and gardens.
Thoughts, thoughts!...
When out is raining
I am more alone.
*
* *
I'm plunged in the silence of steppe,
in the loneliness of seas.
In the night, on wild shores
I'm listening the sound of the moon.
Thrilling of waves and lights
travel by the wind in the horizon.
The sadness of poet Ovidiu
is reflected in the bottom of the sea.
*
* *
As we aid the flowers
let's aid the poet,
as we aid white birds
let's aid the poet,
because the poet is so frail
as flowers and white birds.
*
* *
White nights are going
on fields, on steppe.
Moon is shivering over seas
and somewhere in the mountains snow.
Lonely, on paths I will go
in the depth of the woods
in cold
crying near the deer
with ice soul.
*
* *
It's autumn and maybe tomorrow
I will die on streets
and nobody take care.
It will be there
many leaves
and it will be raining everywhere.
It's autumn and maybe tomorrow.
*
* *
The spring is coming
much as a sign
remember us
that everything
is crossing...
Yes, the spring
is much as a sign.
*
* *
The way of Golgotha is so long
as long is our life.
We beat nails in our souls
one to each other
every day.
Only those who pray in the churches
poor and ill
know where is going
the way of Golgotha.
*
* *
I wait in quiet my end
near the garden of roses.
I know that my soul
will be a bird
flying in the sky
and I also know
that nothing will come back
and happiness
is the irreversible trifle
of our crossing...
I wait in quiet my end
near the garden of roses.
*
* *
The autumn of my mind
was going as leaves over seas.
Will come the coldness,
hard and wild
and I am the leafless oak
in the depth of the winter.
*
* *
In this world
we come alone
and alone we die,
we don't know why
and there are no reasons
to be sad.
*
* *
With an ice aye
I'm looking over woods
when winter comes.
Leaves, as bloody tears
are crying an paths.
Lonely, trees are shivering
under a cold sky.
Somewhere, in the mountains
I see a deer pairs
with ice hearts,
but I know that their warmly love
will cross over this cold winter.
*
* *
Sometimes,
I close my eyes
and I see
the sky and the sea,
the shore
and you,
walk lonely...
Late remembers
from a forget summer.
*
* *
If you are never listening
the music of violins
in blue nights,
a part of your soul is dead.
If you never wrote a poem
on the moving sand
near the sea and the sky,
a part of your soul is dead.
If you never stop
to listen the song of the birds
in the garden of life,
a part of your soul is death.
If you never think
at the loneliness of old age,
a part of your soul is death.
I stay at the window
and I'm looking over the world :
I see only a few people...
*
* *
Stones are never talking.
They are silent in their happiness.
Lonely,
I wish to be a stone
looking the sky and the seas,
forget the shore
where are my roots.
*
* *
From the window of my room
I'm looking to the factories area.
The trees seem to have no sense
as our life.
The autumn is coming
to take her leaves...
*
* *
I was looking in the mirror
to see my face.
What disappointment!
There isn't even a shadow...
*
* *
This autumn is coming
because I'm more tired
and old.
In the autumn
the flowers have no sense.
*
* *
The autumn is coming
alone on streets.
Cold and rain.
With white hair,
older and older,
as the leaves will die
so will die the poet.
It will come the winter
hard and wild.
But after the death
of my body,
I still hope,
in all my soul,
that the spring
will come again.
Poetry by Ioan Rusu
Read 338 times
Written on 2005-12-16 at 21:48
Save as a bookmark (requires login) Write a comment (requires login) Send as email (requires login) Print text| Texts |
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