Alchemy [Alchimie]
What turns into poetry?
Only the things that have died out
and are preserved in mind.
Only what you have left behind,
but still can't live without.
Only departure and return.
Only the route of cranes,
The leaves, which fall dead on the ground,
and people's toil and pains.
poem by Lucian Blaga, translated by Octavian Cocoş
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