Waking up...

This is my woman,

This is my narrow bed,

Here is  the holy church,

Here is the graving place,

This is my child,

Here are his steps through century,

This is his country,

Here I am, poorer and poorer.

Here, in dream, is my home,

With a small courtyard and “cerdac”,

On this porch, still mine,

Sits today, growing, a Dacian ’s offspring.

This is the homeland,

In chest is ancestry’s fire,

This is the hearth where I am consumed,

By the  still Romanian longing.

This furrow and this sky,

This dried up Danube,

This land on which I perish

Shouts: Hey, you, wake up at once! tr. M.R.M. Monica Rodica Muscalu