Spring is my favourite season and April my favourite month of the year. I’ve always been fascinated by the simple way nature teaches about life. This month, especially, at least here, where I live, unfolding the splendour of flowers, keeps teaching me that whatever I cherish is something I also have to let go. Flowers’ impermanence holds its secret - the ongoing transformation, evolution, transmutation. Though many years passed since 1989, I’m still clinging on the beautiful, so loving brave heart of a young man. His birthday, April, the 2nd. So, if you are listening this song and read these words, I thank you so, so much! This is a poem I wrote a few years ago thinking of him, one of the true, innocent heroes, a 19 years old beautiful man killed in the 1989’s Revolution. There weren’t too many years when I couldn’t go to the cemetery, the only cemetery I let my feet to step in. Before becoming the ‘cemetery of the revolution’s heroes’ , most of that place was a playing ground for kids. I spent some time there. And here is the literal English translation of my poem: ‘This spring is a liar, too! And the wind, too rushed! Look at us now and drink in our beauty. Breathe in our scent and do not forget that everything passes.' The tree dropped its tears over the waters. White with petals, the lake rippled. A day went by. The flowers of yesterday were right! Today, the pavement is perfumed with white. I am anxious, I know not how to step upon this spilled white. Better looking at the sky, to watch the gulls crossing, binding love from person to person, stretching it from parks to cemeteries, a heroic white for two, yes, two, April, two. And the Romanian verses: “Şi primăvara asta-i mincinoasă! Şi vântul prea grăbit! Priveşte-ne acum şi soarbe frumuseţea noastră. Inspiră-ne parfumul şi nu uita că totul trece.” Copacul lacrimile peste ape îşi lăsă. Alb de petale, lacul undui. Trecu o zi. Dreptate avut-au florile de ieri! Azi, caldarâmul cu alb s-a parfumat. Mi-e grijă, nu ştiu cum să calc pe albul revărsat. Mai bine-n cer privesc, privesc la pescăruşii traversând, din om în om legând iubirea din parcuri până-n cimitire întinzând un alb eroic pentru doi, da, doi, Aprilie, doi. Poem from “Seasons of Words”, ©Daniela Marin, 2024
