MUSEUM OF STONE
by Sorana Lucia Salomeia

The white moon caresses your beloved window
And sends blue shadows
To lay their faint kisses on the cold glass.

A tear running down my cheek –
Your eyes reflecting in its mirror…

Illusion of the moon-beams that,
In this secret hour,
Send their verses once again
Towards our world…

In the dead, silent garden
My footsteps make no sound –
And there is no voice to make an echo,
No breathing breeze to give us life.

The moon keeps watching –
I wonder what it really sees;
How does it perceive our
Existence or
Non-existence
Here, on earth?

Your body falls like lead
Against the bench of stone.

My shadow leaning against the cold wall
Feels nothing more …

And who would have ever dreamed
That warmth would ever freeze so quickly,
That this life would now be motionless and damp,
That hopes that once were so alive in us,
Would now be just broken arrows…


Copyrighted © Sorana Salomeia, Iasi, Romania