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Why still you count your years... [De ce-ţi mai numeri anii...]

Why still you count your years to see if you are old
When very well you know your soul is sad and cold,
And why you ask the glass so often to attest
That on your face cruel time no wrinkles has impressed,

When know that all your things, which constantly do roll,
Have left deep dreary marks in your beloved soul,
And that eons have passed and fallen in abyss
Since on the earth you felt a momentary bliss?

And how you look today why do you want to know
When you're aware your ghost has left you long ago?
You carry death around and slowly are consumed,
Life has become a pain, you feel that you are doomed!

poem by Veronica Micle, translated by Octavian Cocoş
Added by anonym
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