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Elena Liliana Popescu
The show has begun
the curtain is raised
A silent spectator
is in the dark hall.
The show is going on.
The actors play their roles.
A thrilled spectator
proves his feelings.
The show has ended.
The curtain is dropped.
A silent spectator
is in the light room.
But who is the actor
who has lived his role
if not the silent
spectator that has looked?
And who is the author
who has created the play,
if not the spectator
who has applauded?
I dress in the cloak of immortality
when I remain immobile
and deep in my mind i look at
the secret of nature in a pure expectation.
Some wandering thought, when he might come,
will have to wait at the border.
Then, when the silence is complete
the instant does not pass in vain.
Suddenly, all that surrounds me
reenters in the initial womb,
and I don’t see the world
with its burden. It’s gone.
Past, present and future
melt into the non being.
I’m not and I am. I shiver.
I transcend the incapacity of the mind.
When you step now
on the stone that
under your steps
the pain in itself
the life to come,
do you ask yourself
if it is happy
and could you,
for a moment,
in your mind,
to thank it
Oh, how I wish...
Nothing is as it was before,
nothing will be as today
and tomorrow the memories
when you shall start to think
Will increase your living sadness
that you feel in the passing moment
when you head towards the eternity
and you don’t want to surpass time...
Oh, how I wish you wouldn’t suffer
and your eyes wouldn’t weep,
you, lake covered with nenuphars,
which you know that at dawn, the ones
Who don’t expect will come to pick them,
in the life that lives through them,
to hear in the wise moment,
that everything announces to them,
The mute prayer of despair,
of the silent weeping in this world,
to find again their long lost
hope, to give it a name,
And you may by them know
as they mat now by you
that all that was born will be reborn
and all that will die, will resurrect...
I am only one of your winged thoughts
it was given to me only to travel through the ages
to live in far away worlds, to die
and to continue my wandering god flight...
To be tempted by floating dreams
to believe in the spell of the Fata Morgana in the desert
and not to remember the mission you’ve given me
to choose always the error, to be unappeased
To forget my sacred source, and more and more
not to know to listen of the heart’s message
and to live the nightmare until the end: hatred
and death shall both be my signature,
To make useless war against other people
to gather restlessly huge fortunes
to have the selfishness as my main word
and between the people to consider the coward the first
The faith I proclaim to be but pure chatter
though I teach it every day, not to believe a word of it,
to easily lie and twist the meanings
to want to dominate the entire humanity,
Not to understand that life is an unstained gift
to scatter uselessly the inherited talent
not to know what pity is, striking without mercy
in the fallen and peaceful one, the defenseless one,
And to repeat ceaselessly the initial error
on the road of deceit – the first step taken,
to avoid justice in acts and in words
to make with the ignorance a tremendous oath,
Not to be able to measure my senselessness, my fear,
not know what shame is, to be weak, traitor
to praise always by my petty acts
the falling in the power of the hypocrite ego...
A thought of mine, really, winged
exiled by you in the world of illusions
and wandering from a place to another, ignorant
may you return someday triumphant,
May you get loosen from the dreams of illusion
nothing shall deviate you from the road you choose
may you rediscover step by step the mission I’ve given you
and decipher the mystery inlaid in you,
May you remember more and more clearly
the one who was with you in your solitary peregrination
make way for love, carry it in your heart
and defend the life of the ones awaken from the dead
May you see in everything the one who’s created them
and the know that it isn’t the rich to have the fortunes
that the universe itself live by love:
being able to forgive your enemy is written in your nature.
Your faith will grow bigger and bigger
since you will submit yourself at the only trial,
to look for the truth: to be or not to be?
Master of yourself you’ll succeed to be!!
You’ll know then than life has no end
and the entire inheritance you believe to have scattered
awaits for you thousandfold, her destined master,
when the center of your mind shall be unbounded...
You’ll search for the beginning and won’t find it anymore
in the last jump that you can think
towards your birth country in the most humble clothes
purified and free of every oath.
There where the evil cannot reach
only harmony in everything that are one is reflected.
The word, the act, the thought are pronounced in you
and silently announce your complete freedom.
From the yarn of destiny-rays
a threads descends towards you...
The silent light contains
the lost treasure of life.
Away from the mind’s trap
a soul penetrates Life.
And how much mellowness exhales
the Voice that hides his face...
In the instant that enshrouds time
and when the thoughts are rooted,
You cross motionless the labyrinth
of the unpronounced words.
at your side
didn’t know it,
by the shining
of the faces
in front of your
There is time for remembering
The is time for new trials
There is time for an ardent prayer
There is time for returning to ourselves.
There is time for forgotten dreams
There is time for the unknown
There is time for your liberty
There is time for the not begun.
There is time for old worries
There is time for an inscrutable thought
There is time for other questions
There is time for the same answer.
Through unknown illusions
you wonder, waif soul...
Only the incomprehensible allusions
escort you from a century to another.
I always write you
in my thoughts...
Thousands of answers
arise around you!
But the only answer
you’re looking for,
where the thought
A peregrine thought
from the bewitched country
of the shapes-thought,
„has it got lost?”,
it’s coming closer
attracted by your mind
that was „waiting” for it.
I wonder if
I could think you,
you asked it,
without chaining you
into my world?
All the poems of the world
are an only poem,
of the man’s meditations
over his human condition:
illusions and disillusions,
real or imagined sufferings
that though seem to be equally strong,
trails to get out of the dead end of the impotence,
delays, waitings, sorrows,
but also intense sensations until the ecstasy,
grasps of the subtle zones of the essences,
hopes of humanization of the Universe
A song, like a river,
of living water, life giving water,
that gives back the love received as a gift,
the love we may give,
to the ones who can shelter it in their hearts...
You have the eternity at hand
But an instant is enough.
You can learn from the past, the present or the future.
For the one that knows, there is only present.
One generates the duality,
therefore the plurality,
but he doesn’t prove their existence,
but the existence of their existence.
When your liberty is one
with your own constraint
then, you truly are.
Uncountable beginnings and ends,
to understand the eternity or the existence,
that has neither beginning nor end.
Everything is important for the chained one.
Nothing affects the one who is truly free.
Listen to your heart’s voice,
that never lies to you,
never abandons you
and who is your best
and closest friend.
We’re afraid of what we believe
that death means,
but do we really know,
how many times we die in a single day?
Or in a single instant?
It is worth obtaining
only what can’t be lost.
But that thing you own it
since the beginning of the beginnings.
You realize the world’s imperfection
be glad: it is only your imperfection!
You’re living the illusion of happiness or of misery
only because you don’t know who you are.
A live is measured in instants,
but the instant, how many lives does it measure?...
What is life? Your own existence.
Where is the Space
if we are One?
Where is Time,
if I am always the same?
Each time you had difficulties he has helped you.
You have regained the hopes you believed having lost.
He was always besides you, he knew the best
what must, when it must and how it must be done.
Do you hear him? Do you see him? He’s talking to you! Do you recognize him?
Nothing can be lost,
as well as nothing can be gained,
because everything was given to you since forever.
Only because you don’t admit this truth,
you want to obtain something, believing you lack it.
What separates us?
The illusion of the diversity or the ignorance.
What make us alike?
The aspiration towards perfection.
What identifies us?
Only the existence.
English version by Vlad Copil