#romanian
(Prose)
Throughout the centuries, this nation has endured storms, famine, and hard times. And yet, every time, even when people felt lost, an unseen force lifted them up. It was not found in gold, nor in weapons, but in their faith — the faith that gave them patience, hope, and the strength to go on.
Every prayer whispered in secret, every act of kindness left as a legacy to their children was a flame burning in the darkness. This faith did not fade, even when people lost their homes, their fields, or even their loved ones. It lived on in every child who went to school, in every person who placed work and honesty above fear, in every heart that believed tomorrow could be better.
This nation has always known that true strength does not come from wealth, but from the invisible roots of faith. And even as time passes and many things are lost, these roots continue to grow in silence, reminding people never to forget who they are and where they come from.
The faith of this nation is like a thread of light passing through generations — unseen, yet impossible to break. It gives them the power to smile, to fight, and to love, even when everything seems lost.
May the Good Lord guide us, our families, and our country on the path of peace and prosperity.
09.11.2025
Andrei Guțu
Nov 9, 2025
Nov 9, 2025 at 2:30 PM UTC
(Prose)
Across hills and plains, from the Dniester to the Tisza, flows the heart of our country, a love that never breaks. In every village, in every old house, echoes the voices of our martyrs, whispering of longing, of kin, of the Romanian soul. Every fortress, every monument, every corner of the land is a treasure of heritage, a testament to our ancestors and their love for the nation.
Let us cherish the language that binds us and the songs that soothe us, honor the parents who gave us roots and a home, and love our neighbors, for in every face reflects the visage of the whole nation. Under the sky of Romania, we are one united heart, and every territory — from sea to mountains, every village, every city, every hill — is a page in the living poetry of our people.
Let us love our country as we love our parents, preserve the ancestral home as a sacred altar, honor the past, and dream of the future. And in our voices, may it always resound: Romania is ours, whole and eternal.
With appreciation,
Andrei GUȚU
Nov 6, 2025
Nov 6, 2025 at 5:27 AM UTC
Renounce for God the thought of pride,
Humility is the straight path, where immortality resides.
Modest is the one who in His mystery finds solace,
And instead of earthly gold, receives forgiveness and grace.
Love your neighbor, honor your parents dear,
In their warm tears lie treasures sacred and clear.
Not in fleeting riches, but in the gift of love,
The pure soul rises to heaven above.
Seek peace in all, and leave worldly desire behind,
For in the heavenly, the Lord hides all that’s divinely kind.
Who renounces the world, towards Him shall tread,
And in His holy grace, a new life blossoms ahead.
Nov 6, 2025
Nov 6, 2025 at 5:24 AM UTC
He steps into the classroom like a temple of thought,
where every word becomes a seed of dreams sought.
Learning is not a burden, but a flame that silently glows,
from every child, a universe of possibilities grows.
With patience, he weaves unseen threads of knowing,
turns mistakes into paths and questions into showing doors.
He teaches not just lessons, but shapes character bright,
and sparks courage in each gaze, igniting inner light.
The teacher is the architect of time and hope,
a lighthouse illuminating unseen roads to cope.
Through him, the school pulses, and generations rise,
learning to trust their power and the beauty in life’s skies.
Nov 6, 2025
Nov 6, 2025 at 5:23 AM UTC
When election day rises once again,
raise your voice, go out and vote then.
The power is yours, hope shines bright,
the nation awakens through democracy’s light.
One vote can change it all, one vote unites,
the country’s destiny is built by our rights.
Faith matters, believing is key,
the nation votes — and you must see.
26.09.2025
With responsibility and love for my land,
Andrei Guțu
Nov 6, 2025
Nov 6, 2025 at 5:22 AM UTC
Hello, dear Bucharest, I write
from Transylvania, with a brotherly sight.
Come on, don’t be mad at me,
I send you joy from God’s decree.
I, a Moldovan, with longing true,
bring greetings straight from Heaven to you,
from mountains high and meadows rare,
the message comes, bright and clear.
Come on, let’s start a dance, a round,
let people dance at morning’s sound.
It’s your day, a celebration grand,
flower by flower across the land!
Remember this in your heart today:
in this wide country, we all have a say.
Bucharest, Transylvania, and Moldova,
united we stand — that is the law!
20.09.2025
With love from Transylvania,
Andrei Guțu
Nov 6, 2025
Nov 6, 2025 at 5:22 AM UTC
In a world full of darkness and night,
he seeks the paths of gentle light.
He does not shout, he does not strike,
but lets peace gather, soft and like.
When he sees hatred upon the land,
he places a gentle smile by hand.
He wants no wars, no harsh command,
just soothing gestures, calm and planned.
He walks with quiet, steady pace,
and helps the people to embrace
the truth that goodness is the key
to make our lives more pure and free.
And if you meet him on your way,
he guides you gently where he may.
The man of peace is like a ray,
bringing the world more bright each day.
Nov 6, 2025
Nov 6, 2025 at 5:21 AM UTC
Times pass by, and deeds are written down,
those who forget the past wear truth as frown.
Unity and the path are shown so clear,
history forgives nothing bitter or severe.
Through struggles and dreams, through rebirth and longing,
we built our roots and a future growing.
Knowing the past keeps us alive and one,
history does not forgive, it shows us who we’ll become.
Nov 6, 2025
Nov 6, 2025 at 5:20 AM UTC
Along country paths my steps fall light,
I meet faces and stories that take flight.
Each village, each open soul I see,
reveals who I am and my destiny.
Mountains and rivers, old buildings, traditions reborn,
the hand of time and ancestors is felt and sworn.
Unity, respect, solidarity gleam,
lights that weave together the world’s grand theme.
I love my people, nature, and sacred past,
each place a lesson, a dream that holds me fast.
Picturesque and grand, every corner tells a tale,
and my heart leaps before history’s growing trail.
Let us be travelers through our homeland’s land,
discovering people, ideas, and hope firsthand.
Through roads and cultures, our world we embrace,
and in these journeys, we find our true place — HOME, our grace.
Nov 6, 2025
Nov 6, 2025 at 5:20 AM UTC
In Ulmu was your home, your land, your spring,
there you left your children, and longing to cling.
Grandfather Mihail, gone too soon,
Grandmother Olimpiada, with her gentle tune.
Though I did not meet you as I had wished,
I carry you in my heart, endlessly cherished.
The village and kin remember you still,
and I honor you with love, as my heart will.
__________________________________________________
With respect and boundless longing,
your grandson who keeps you in his soul,
Andrei Guțu
Personal note / Message about my grandparents
Grandfather Mihail left us too early, so I never had the chance to know him. Yet, from my mother’s stories and those who knew him, I learned he was a respected man in Ulmu village, Ialoveni district, a devoted father, and a support to everyone around him. His memory lives on in how he raised his children and the respect he left behind.
Grandmother Olimpiada I knew only in my early childhood. She remains in my heart as a gentle, hardworking woman who, despite being an orphan, built a home and raised eight children. Even though my memories are few, her face is forever linked to the warmth of our family home and my roots.
Thinking of them fills me with gratitude and longing. Grandfather Mihail and Grandmother Olimpiada are part of our family story and who we are today. May God grant them peace, along with all those who have passed from us.
Nov 6, 2025
Nov 6, 2025 at 5:19 AM UTC
The Romanian language keeps us home,
it carries longing through fields and loam.
It grows within the soul, both calm and right,
the ancient tale that never fades from sight.
In Romanian speech, we find our might,
joy and longing, pure and bright.
It gathers us, it holds our core,
within our hearts it lives evermore.
The Romanian tongue is my pride,
an ancient root that will not hide.
Through it we live and will recall,
a nation strong, that shall not fall.
31.08.2025
Andrei GUȚU
Nov 6, 2025
Nov 6, 2025 at 5:19 AM UTC
One day I told the world aloud:
“We are free, we’ll step unbowed!”
Moldova began its fragile way,
taking careful steps upon its clay.
Though we are a separate state,
our hearts are books that educate —
written in the Romanian tongue,
with ancestral roots forever young.
We are not alone upon this earth,
Romanians feel through every word’s worth.
Though we are parted, split apart,
we do not wish to differ at heart.
Independent, but not from kin,
not from parents, nor Carpathian wind.
The motherland is ever near,
in our speech, beside God’s sphere.
27.08.2025
Andrei GUȚU
Nov 6, 2025
Nov 6, 2025 at 5:11 AM UTC
Light descends from the clear blue sky,
the Bible shows the path on high.
With love and patience held in the heart,
the soul ascends to peace and light’s part.
Nov 6, 2025
Nov 6, 2025 at 5:10 AM UTC
Stand still in a serene place,
with thoughts of your people’s grace.
Be the builder of the ancient cathedral,
keeping in your soul the nation’s regal.
The sun rises and sets the same,
delighting eyes beneath the sky’s frame.
This beauty belongs to all, near and far,
and united hearts reveal the nation’s star.
Nov 6, 2025
Nov 6, 2025 at 5:09 AM UTC
There are only waves, that roam without cease,
in distant places, seemingly at peace.
In human life, the waves never sleep,
they twist and turn, striking hearts too deep.
Waves can be pains, regrets that stay,
hard moments slipping like sand away.
But among them shines a ray of hope,
that soothes the soul and helps it cope.
Nov 6, 2025
Nov 6, 2025 at 5:09 AM UTC
My country, I feel you far away,
like a dream that will not stay.
All the nights that burned in you
remain within my thoughts, too.
Old houses, with doors closed tight,
weep along the roads in quiet night.
And your wide plains, so still today,
lie in silence, forgotten, they say.
I long for you, yet longing pains,
I find no words to voice these strains.
Homeland, you’re like a mother dear,
left alone along the path, austere.
Nov 6, 2025
Nov 6, 2025 at 5:08 AM UTC
I die poor, but in my land,
beneath a sky that’s calm and grand.
My hands are buried deep in clay,
yet faith has lit my final day.
I did what little I could do,
though hunger shared my table too.
To be a stone, there down below,
the base from which true meanings grow.
On broken roads, in dust and pain,
our children grow with dreams in vain.
And bread’s like gold, so hard to find,
in homes where winter bites the mind.
But I don’t bow, I don’t give in,
though I have naught, I hold within
a boundless love, without compare —
for this poor land, still mine to bear.
They fill our ears with empty lies,
and smile with soft deceitful eyes,
yet leave us cold beneath their theft,
our hearts in chains, our hopes bereft.
They steal the last of what we own,
but comes the hour, it’s carved in stone —
no chain can last forever long,
against a people fierce and strong.
It’s hard… yet we have no other ground,
no other mother to be found.
And if we dream of life anew,
a land reborn, both proud and true,
then brothers, now’s the time to stand,
to cleanse the soul of this poor land.
Let’s pull the thieves from gilded thrones,
and build our future with our bones.
Let’s stop our waiting, eyes to skies,
for saints or miracles to rise.
Each of us, no matter small,
must place a drop to strengthen all.
Not walls — but roots, foundations true,
so we’re not lions without a clue,
but honest men, upright and clear,
with word and heart both proud, sincere.
And if I die, I’ll go in peace,
my suffering at last released.
I die poor, yet unafraid,
beneath my homeland’s sky I’ve stayed.
And I will carry, as a flame,
the dream of cleaner soil and name —
a land I’ve loved, but never shamed.
Nov 6, 2025
Nov 6, 2025 at 5:07 AM UTC
At spring’s first light, a sleeping world awakes,
along paths of old desires, under shadows time makes.
Each budding flower is a hope revived,
completing the past with wisdom, in colors newly derived.
From memories edged with pain, and nights full of tears,
threads of courage were woven, hidden in hearts through the years.
With every heartbeat, facing storms that raged,
a light emerged, drawing promises for the age.
Beneath the clear sky of a late spring day, dreams entwine,
each sunbeam soothing scars of a love once unkind.
From ashes rises a spirit born of fire and desire,
urging weary steps toward a flight that aspires.
With the voice of the wind, whispers tell their tales,
of harsh moments carved in fragments of memory’s veils.
Now they merge in a symphony of hope and insight,
calling us to look ahead with hearts brave and bright.
It is an effervescent past, written on life’s pages,
a lesson unveiled in the dew of spring’s awakening stages.
Together we lift our gaze to a horizon pure and clear,
where each moment of longing turns to a beginning near.
Let your soul be a canvas, painted with colors of hope,
by little suns born beyond the fiercest storms’ scope.
And know that though the road was hard to embrace,
the future is charming — a call to move forward, from past to eternal grace.
Nov 6, 2025
Nov 6, 2025 at 5:07 AM UTC
When spring pours its gentle light,
and flowers bloom beneath warm rays so bright,
a wind of sorrow has touched your heart,
and in your soul you feel a deep, dark part.
Someone hurt you, tore from life what’s dear,
took what was beautiful, left only fear.
And in your thoughts, resentment creeps,
revenge devours, shadows over you it heaps.
But spring, in all its splendid glow,
calls you to forgive, to let the anger go.
Love like Jesus, with a pure heart shine,
for only through forgiveness a new world can align.
If you hate, if you seek to destroy,
you lose your path, your light, your joy.
Forgiveness is key, love is the gift,
through you it can bloom, a gentle uplift.
Do not let evil steal your smile,
for only love can lift you all the while.
Forgive with faith, with tears and cheer,
and let spring bring rebirth near.
Do not forget those who caused you pain,
instead of hate, help them grow again.
Through your forgiveness, hearts may mend,
and in place of withered leaves, peace can ascend.
So forgive unconditionally, without end,
for only then true freedom will descend.
And spring will be a miracle to see,
where you and others bloom truly free.
Nov 6, 2025
Nov 6, 2025 at 5:06 AM UTC
On a corner of the sky, with gentle sun,
Jesus descends, a gift for everyone.
And spring begins to bloom and rise,
when His love warms hearts and skies.
The trees sing softly in quiet air,
and flowers sway with tender care.
They dance lightly in the breeze,
announcing love across the trees.
Beneath the sky, so clear and bright,
He comes with gentle, soothing light.
And every blade of grass and flower
praises Him in holy power.
Nov 6, 2025
Nov 6, 2025 at 5:06 AM UTC
On a path among the flowers,
the girl walked, a dream of morning hours.
Her long black hair, shiny and free,
warm eyes, a smile for all to see.
The gentle wind caressed her face,
the sun rejoiced in her embrace.
He came along his quiet way,
his heart marching to love’s sway.
When his gaze fell upon her there,
the world around seemed bright and fair.
“You are so beautiful,” he said soft and shy,
with a tender voice, a gentle sigh.
She laughed and whispered softly then:
“It’s spring — it’s perfect, here and when!”
They strolled together, slow and light,
without fear, without thought, without plight.
And since that day, beneath the blooming trees,
they meet each day with hearts at ease.
No plans, no rush, no worldly care —
just love and a walk, a simple pair.
Nov 6, 2025
Nov 6, 2025 at 5:05 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.
Nov 6, 2025
Nov 6, 2025 at 5:04 AM UTC
(Prose)
On a spring morning, with the sun gently caressing the newly blossomed flowers, I closed my eyes and let myself be carried by imagination. Thus began a journey through time, a soulful walk into the courageous past of our people. I found myself in a Romania of long ago, a country seeking itself and gathering, step by step, all the pieces of its heart.
The first stop was in 1859, in Bucharest. There, among emotional crowds, I felt the tension and hope that hung in the air. People spoke of the Union of Moldavia with Wallachia, and the dream of a united country began to take shape. It seemed that everyone was living spring not only in nature, but also in their hearts.
Next, I arrived in 1918, in March, in Chișinău. It was still spring. On that historic day, March 27, Bessarabia united with Romania. I imagined people embracing their brothers, the tricolor flag fluttering in the warm spring breeze, and hearts beating in unison. It was a return home, after much pain and longing.
The final stop was Alba Iulia, in December 1918. Though it was winter, that day carried a special warmth—the warmth of a dream fulfilled. Greater Romania was born, and in that imaginary journey, I understood better what the words “unity,” “sacrifice,” and “love of country” truly mean.
This journey through the past, in the full bloom of spring, showed me that the union is not just a historical moment, but an emotion that continues to flourish within us, from generation to generation. Just as spring brings life everywhere, so too did the union bring hope and light into the hearts of Romanians.
Nov 6, 2025
Nov 6, 2025 at 4:57 AM UTC
My Chișinău, city of longing and grace,
I carry you softly within my chest.
Beneath your sky, I lose myself in memories—
on your streets, time walks more gently.
I’ve seen you in every morning’s light,
your corners old, still whisper tales.
Each stone hides a secret dream,
each wind breathes hope across your veils.
Ștefan Boulevard — I’ve felt you near,
your ancient trees still guard their shade.
I hide within your tender scent—
of autumn, spring, of snow and ache.
My Chișinău, with earthbound soul,
your heartbeat hums in every space—
in markets, parks, and quiet cafés,
beneath the lamps where dreams embrace.
Along the Bâc, the rippling stream
brings peace and time to rest my heart.
In every wall, in every beam,
old lives and stories never part.
Even through days of mist and gray,
you stay, my dearest, all the same—
sharing each hour, each breath, each way,
Chișinău, my heart bears your name.
Nov 6, 2025
Nov 6, 2025 at 4:55 AM UTC
The sky grows dim, yet you remain my light,
an unseen hand that guides my feet through night.
You, mother — everlasting root and flame,
with voice so gentle, tender is your name.
You left at dawn, while stars still softly burned,
yet still your name through every prayer returns.
Anna — the flowers whisper when it rains,
and in the evening wind, your love remains.
You placed pure love into my open palms,
your eyes had taught me peace, and quiet calms.
Though longing weighs my heart like stone,
your love still shields the thorns I’ve known.
Mother, I do not cry — I write of you,
in every verse, your soul is shining through.
When all the world falls down, you make me stand,
a living prayer held in my veins and hand.
And so I learn — a mother’s love won’t fade,
it never dies, nor withers with the shade.
It is the sky that calls me to its frame,
the smile that time can never quite reclaim.
To those who’ve lost the root from which they grew,
I say: Love now — time won’t wait for you.
A mother is a life, not just a scar,
for hearts too proud to speak who they are.
And you, my mother — you, dear Anna,
remain with me in dream, in prayer, in star,
a flame untouched by autumn’s breath of sorrow,
a gentle touch beyond tomorrow.
__________________________________________________
Dedicated to my beloved mother, Anna Guțu, who passed away in the spring of 2010, at only 49 years old. May God rest her soul in peace.
Nov 6, 2025
Nov 6, 2025 at 4:54 AM UTC