Lord, how much life can reside in a tree? I don’t even know his name, but then I write down my poems every day On pieces of paper made from his skin.
He has witnessed my winter tears And I have enjoyed his blossoms when it’s warm Even though my window, looking to the sky, Doesn’t reach as far as his outstretched arms.
When I’m in pain, he Sings my tribulations. Even then, between us There’s a silence so enormous That it takes in everything From madness to desperation: Blasphemy, the miracle above, Prayer and a cry of love.
Sometimes, after ages of this silence between Us, a single leaf falls down. And then, Without knowing why, or what the cost, A grateful universe learns by heart What it’s lost.
by Ana Blandiana, translated by Paul Scott Derrick and Viorica Patea