Lucia Stefanovici Poems

Life is a poem.
We rewrite it daily.
But we just have not found
the right words.
...

Poets are
the incurable children of the world.

Poets are
...

You started to hate
even the fact that I still breath, too.
...

There is a time when the people faces are changing one to another
greedily forgetting sadness
without knowing even the forgetfulness
which its thirst sips in them.
...

We shall never be like brothers.
Hearts passionate if they stayed
As the clear dew of the morning,
Under the closed eyes, potion saint.
...

but there come
the seconds as they pass by
on a pavement
among snow-drifts
...

The night prolongly
cried
as a wounded bird in the moment in which it was kissing
the unseeing.
...

You do not even know how beautiful you are
so sleepy how you pass to
life.
You do not even now how beautiful you are
...

Murind astfel lumea ar supravieţui.
Ei nu au clintit în datoria către omenire.
Şi noi am plâns pentru vieţile secerate,
Întristându-ne pentru aceia ce tocmai se naşteau.
...

Bent children,
a bit of eyelace kept,
driedly cried tear,
blindly searched hand,
...