Romanian Dreamer

Thousands of miles
of blue sky
take me home
back to a land of golden grain fields
and the red of blood
shed for democracy and freedom
in 1989.
A titanic rainbow remains in charge 
so I take a break
behind its painted shield
to contemplate the Carpathians,
our “rocky mountains” by name,
then move away from a familiar relief
of teary homesickness,
hide-and-seek landscapes
and childhood grief
to finally watch 
the Danube River
protecting the southern border
around the clock,
like a divine guard,
and its life-giving tributaries,
the flaura and flora paradise 
of its unique Delta,
the  magnificent Black Sea
and its picturesque coast.
Brancusi's Gate of the Kiss, 
his Table of Silence in Targu Jiu
remind me of  Trajan’s Column.
When Rome invaded the proud Dacians
a cradle of Latinity 
was born to last;
Two thousand years from then,
I welcome YOU, my dearest friend,
with salt and bread, on my doorstep,
a braided woman,
with a wreath of wild flowers
on my head and a violin ballad
in the background.
Here, life means harmony
with the natural rhythms
and the ups-and-downs of one's heart,
through the four seasons,
but going away from the living 
is hardly the solemn end.
In Sapanta, the merry cemetery
of comic epitaphs and naïve paintings
proclaims a national philosophy
of smiling even
in the face of adversity or death.

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