Philosophy of death [Filozofia morţii]
To Death, with unwise voice, such words I will not pour
"Stop coming for a while and wait a little more!",
To breathe my last I'm ready right now or anytime!
In it there's always freedom, in life man slave becomes...
Eternity is waiting for us with open arms...
And thus we all re-enter the bosom sweet, sublime!
It's not at all appalling, as people say and sigh;
Its glance is calm and bluish like the unclouded sky.
The state before inception is mirrored by its face!
Stays at the worldly border like a triumphant gate
Its fires wash the passions which have been sent by fate,
And cleans the clay that covers our souls so full of grace!
If any of the spirits denies its high domain
Is worthy then to live here and feel the bitter pain!
When cease to be you're rescued from suffering and cry!
By Jove! I'm sick of sleeping, and drinking in delight,
Again to do the same things from dawn till late at night,
To live, but have the feeling I cannot choose to die!
But what's beyond the dying?... Another life may be
When blood has frozen solid and stopped to flow in thee?...
To say a No what being of this wide world would dare?...
And Death what's in its essence?... A sleep, a holy rest,
When once again our soft clay is kneaded and is pressed
And for that change majestic it has to wait and bear!
When paper burns, a fraction of it in ashes lies,
While smoke – the other fraction – above the flame will rise;
The same is with the body, made of two parts, no doubt,
The clay remains behind it and flowers will grow then,
While gases go in heaven to freshen once again
Those elements eternal from which they all came out!
O, shadows, you who passed away,
In death you never will subside,
You live in all we see today,
From where you left after you died;
Your soul is everywhere you please,
Burns with the flames, flies with the breeze,
Lies in the leaf that's turning green,
Speaks in the river winding, clean,
Smells from the flower that is seen,
We live in it, in us it lies,
Mothers in mourning, wipe your eyes,
Your children still are here with you!
Nothing is lost in world at all,
Nothing will pass, alive will stay,
The blade of grass, however small,
And my own body made of clay!
The tombstone tries, but all in vain,
To keep us in the moist terrain;
Birds come on it to drink and rest;
It's hit by wind, by rain oppressed!
Time breaks it and in moss is dressed;
Padlock and handles then will rust
Our country's soldiers, dead in dust,
Will be all over, in us, too!
I will not go to search in Hell
Those in the world who surely die
And Paradise is far, I tell,
Long is the ladder to the sky!
But in two vines, which join above,
I'll find two hearts that fell in love,
And in the willows sheding tears,
Poets with harps that soothe the ears,
In flowers, lovers young of years!
Moms in the stems stick in the ground
And heroes in the mounts around!
Let all the stupid people to fear the death today,
Which, to avoid temptation, will surely come and lay
At life's remotest border a barrier, alas;
But those who can see farther and hear the grave's loud call,
When feel they're on its edges and ready are to fall,
Like me, for Death, to drink up this necessary glass!
poem by Alexandru Macedonski, translated by Octavian Cocoş
Added by anonym
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