In the evening’s shadow, I enter quietly,
a vacant house, with mold in corners silently.
Before me hangs my mother’s gentle face,
a kind, humble visage, as if from heaven’s grace.
Her light caresses every corner of longing and pain,
bringing solace like an ancient, sacred refrain.
Her gaze, filled with soft and radiant light,
seemed lifted from a tale without a blight.
In her world, there’s chosen charm and delight,
people are gentle, and worries take flight.
Happiness smiles, enduring and pure,
shining in a corner of paradise, secure.
Nov 6, 2025
Nov 6, 2025 at 5:04 AM UTC
In the evening’s shadow, I enter quietly,
a vacant house, with mold in corners silently.
Before me hangs my mother’s gentle face,
a kind, humble visage, as if from heaven’s grace.
Her light caresses every corner of longing and pain,
bringing solace like an ancient, sacred refrain.
Her gaze, filled with soft and radiant light,
seemed lifted from a tale without a blight.
In her world, there’s chosen charm and delight,
people are gentle, and worries take flight.
Happiness smiles, enduring and pure,
shining in a corner of paradise, secure.
The poem was originally written in Romanian and later translated into English.
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