I turned to think, how ever did,
The people and ideas, do not know any of fate …
Why write it?! I can not ignore the facts,
On the vacuum as life-and play instruments.
 
I dream of lying on carpets of rose
Way of the dust of stars, which I like a thread …
I stick with soft step, I hear silence,
I feel tears of blood … a spin  …
 
Want divine voice of poetry sensitive …
With a love of fire … is credible:
“Waiting at the fountain in the valley of silence …
Moving and geamătul in spells pleasure …
 
Înmirezmată of a rare beauty …
Came along! Angel pale in dirty night …
Water to human life were a child gullible
And absorbed with passion, but I was pretty …
 
You were a spring that comforted me hope,
From another world … be in balance.
The hands of flowers, high body, lips boiled
And going gentle, ephemeral, I looked into the night …
 
With wild eyes of flame …
With star guard … were a romantic.
Light clothes of your soul,
I thought heaven was avoided by me. (…)
 
Mysterious silence I laugh in the face, 
Thoughts returned to life …
I woke up … eyes looking lost my dream …
How to scratch with the pen? (…) Always missing. “