translated from original Romanian – my best efforts
It is only through beginnings
we see true natures, weighted, without meaning and
we lose ourselves in conjuring
attempts at sensations in which
all angers and passions meet madness –
bloody, asking, wanting.
These clouds transform to
leave us washed with greeenery, but
sometimes the trees lose themselves
when the night-time enters.
She seeks the light that troubles him, only
finding the joy that was frozen, unmoveable. Here
you may find where to run for
an ending, a choice.