The country is changing,
its modernity is broken in leaps and bounds.
Immensity overflows his solitude.
Romanians grow longing for heights.
The completely dry wooden church
shouting for their believers, who squeeze ideas.
through virtual bottles with chip in clairvoyance
children are adopted, values have no keys.
There is barbed wire in the eyes of the old,
curses sliding from the mind on the knife…
An unsown field Hell shows us:
how the saw kills the singing wood.
In the sleep of travelers the valley is deep,
the flash of splendor climbed a ladder.
From the fertile chaos still blooms – a rock,
good luck with a violin song…
Victoria Fătu Nalațiu
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