Etice

"the trees return to their roots and rains of stars fall to the sky, the old become children again, the blind man in me sees and the rivers flow to the springs, the sparks are baked into the embers, and the mornings from your eyes become the ephemeral exile, remain oceans without water, a kind of mountains with the top down, from my star, the dust was chosen and some tragic wonder haunts us as if we are shadows trampled on the parapet of ruin and of delight with beauty, what madness, what sadness, since I have known the One on High, the humble mysteries accompany me between sleeplessness and sleep, then I roll again with the dice of despair, sometimes the number two and lock myself in the sanctuary with unanswered questions, what to speak and what to keep silent about lost loves, when there are no cures to make my dreams pleasant, when eternal happiness is just a rumor to nowhere harassing strange forgiveness take your memories and go..." Mihai Măceş