Paris in the springtime.
Dark winter in the land of fall.
Of guns and bombs.
Machines that ****, at will.
Whose will it is?
Is what we finding ourselves asking?
As human beings.
We implore the end to evil deeds.
Evils preceding war.
God bless the lost,
God bless the lonely.
If only he would.
Paris must survive.
Joie d'vivre.
(c)LIVVI

This chaos is cultivated in the land of *******.
Angels fear to enter there.
Mental men and fanatics.
Spawn of the devil.
Curse them all.
Blame no one, but the darkest lord, of mind control and menace.
Religion and fanaticism.
Dwelling in the darkest realms.
Satan's rising.
Let us pray for liberation upon this vile day.
I state, that I do declare religion is a curse.
Debating starting praying, but I know not to whom I should pray.
Most probably my pen.
Left in a quandary.
Where to go from here.
Tears are pouring, they're burning my cheeks,my heart is strong but my soul it be weak.
(c)LIVVI

I'm passing through an autumn day
As through an enormous tear.
A fruit full ripe with perfume sweet
Sinks slowly slowly  to my feet.

I'm passing through the wind and light.
I've never known the reason why
Seasons gone remain as branches
In those unclaimed yet by the night.

Emil Brumaru
translated by Adam J. Sorkin and Sergiu Celac