The soul of the village
 Lucian Blaga

Girl, put your hands on my knees
I think eternity was born in the village
Here all thoughts are slower
And your heart pumps more seldom
As if it were not beating within your chest,
But deep down underground.
Here can be healed the thirst for redemption
And if your feet are bleeding
Just sit on humid ground.
Now that the evening comes
The soul of the village flies nearby
Like the aroma of freshly cut grass
Like smoke rising from the straw roofs
Like a dance of young animals on high tombs.

translated from Romanian by Alexandra Badea