From miles away, the lightest of lights
comes slowly into my thoughts
-- still holding the stillness –
-- and nurturing the voice of the voiceless –
Yet, here I am the one in secret hour,
like a troubadour destined to see,
the hidden cry of unbeholden plea.
Oh misery, dear misery of mine,
if you break the silence of thy cry,
never ask me whose child am I...
or how many have tried
to tear me apart.
First answer is blown by the storm.
The second -- a number too high --
it squeezes my brain figuring out.
But just for the record:
In this chaotic World a bleeding heart,
could never play for safety and make art!
Copyright Neli Fatu de Valahia