by Irina Mocreac, Moldavian Poet

I slept in my room. Quiet.
My soul flied quiet from window.
It flied to the World near and foreign
To the distant town, strange and native

It wandered in by-streets and looked at houses
This is your street and the light of a big lantern.
The name of your street it saw
With hands it hugged the friend, Moon.

It penetrates with a ray to the desk.
After, it walked and the floor creaked under feet.
Cross the threshold, a beautiful bedroom it was,
Lied down.  It felt your passion and warmth.

But the merciless dawn come,
But to come back, it doesn't have power and wish
When I got up in the morning I didn't understand
Was this a dream or my soul really was at you?

Irina Mocreac is a poet living in Kishinev, Moldavia.
Image  Bill Murphy 2000-2018 All Rights Reserved