Cãtre cititori

Aici e casa mea. Dincolo soarele ºi grãdinã cu stupi.
Voi treceþi pe drum, vã uitaþi printre gratii de poartã
ºi aºteptaþi sã vorbesc. - De unde sã-ncep?
Credeþi-mã, credeþi-mã,
despre oriºice poþi sã vorbeºti cât vrei:
despre soartã ºi despre ºarpele binelui,
despre arhanghelii cari arã cu plugul
gradinile omului,
despre cerul spre care creºtem,
despre urã ºi cãdere, tristeþe ºi rãstigniri
ºi înainte de toate despre marea trecere.
Dar cuvintele sunt lacrimile celor ce ar fi voit
aºa de mult sã plânga ºi n-au putut.
Amare foarte sunt toate cuvintele,
de-aceea - lãsaþi-mã
sã umblu mut printre voi,
sã vã ies în cale cu ochii închiºi.


Tradusa in engleza de Rodica Albu

Here is my house. There is the sun and the garden with beehives.
You are walking on the road, peeping through the latticed gate
And expecting me tot speak. - Where should I start?

Believe me, do believe me,
you can speak as musch as you care to about any thing:
about fate and about the well-meaning snake,
about the archangels that plought the gardens of man,
about the heavean we are growing towards,
about hatred and fall, sadness and crucifixions,
and, above all, about the greaty passage.

Words are only the tears of whose who so much
wished they could cry but they couldn't.
Bitter are all words do - let me walk dumb among you,
let me meet you with my eyes closed".


sursa: http://www.cronicaromana.ro/index.php?art=55937