To my critics [Criticilor mei]
On the earth are many flowers,
But a few bear fruit and thrive,
All of them knock at the life's gate,
Many though can't stay alive.
It is easy to make poems
When you have nothing to say,
Writing empty words on paper,
Which are nothing but cliche.
But the day your heart is flooded
By desires and by woe
And your mind, hearing them shouting,
Is excited by their flow,
When like flowers at the life's gate,
All these knock at your mind's door,
Asking you to give them freedom,
To allow them to speak more,
For your passions and desires
And for your entire life,
Where will be your severe judges,
The eyes watching you with strife?
Oh! You'll feel as if the sky falls
On your shoulders in no time,
How will you express the truth then,
How you'll find the word and rhyme?
You, my critics, useless flowers,
Without fruit, prone to decay –
It is easy to make poems
When you have nothing to say.
poem by Mihai Eminescu, translated by Octavian Cocoş
Added by anonym
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