Sunday, September 25, 2011

Rătăcind...



M-am pierdut în plimbări
pe cărările tainice ale toamnei...
Septembrie mi-a dăruit
ghinde și castane zgribulite...

Le-am primit cu drag.

Sufletul meu râde acum,
mai fericit, mai bogat, mai împlinit...

Pășesc alene spre casă,
respirând aerul cu parfum de poezie.
Ajung în pragul ușii cu toamna în suflet...
Și în geantă...

Saturday, September 24, 2011

Septembrie

Cad castane. Nu te feri!
Întinde mâna, culege-le;
bucură-te de cele mai prețioase comori ale toamnei...
Zâmbește soarelui 
și adăpostește în suflet
minunatul tablou pe care îl primești în dar...


Friday, September 23, 2011

Toamna dansează...


Toamna dansează
... printre crengile copacilor triști,
făcând vântul să plângă
cu frunze vii și moarte...
Septembrie cântă înfrigurat...


Zâmbetul toamnei
îmi mângâie ușor sufletul...
Culeg veselă
raze calde de soare,
modelând versuri...

 ♥
 
Sângele toamnei
îmi picură arome în vene,
mânjindu-mi imaginația
cu frunze melancolice, 
scrise într-un caiet
îngălbenit de vreme...

Sunday, September 18, 2011

Pitiful...

Poor creatures... 

Some of them blush... They feel so puny and ugly when she comes around...
Others turn pale... She seems so strong and merciless that they fear she will bring them death...
Later on, they all turn brown in fury and weakness... 
She is so beautiful, but still so cold. She walks among them like a goddess, carrying her colourful dress and her chilling tears. Sometimes, she gets mad and turns the whole world upside-down, making people open their umbrellas and hurry home, to cuddle in their beloved ones' arms.
Trees, bending before her as if they were her slaves... and she mocks them, so badly... She smiles gently; the sun in her hair at sunset is so sweet that they all melt and they sacrifice their heavy beautiful coat... They give it to her, no regrets and her dress grows more and more, every day prettier. She shines, she seems to be so warm, so loving, repaying them with scented poetical fruits. But in the end they have nothing left. Their leaves, their fruits, their hearts... Everything is taken away... 
So she does every year, she always gets what she wants, using her fake warmth and kindness. 
Poor innocent souls! Their nudity is so sad, that even a poet's heart would bleed at such a view, before being able to graze a few lyrics. 
And then she leaves, her tempestuous laugh increasing the pain, the frustration and making them look even more miserable... She leaves behind her windy wrath, her rainy lack of soul and her unforgettable coldness...
They hate her, but what can they do? Endure winter with the little power they have, there's no other way... No other way...