I was so very tired
and suffering.
Think I was suffering from too much soul.

Uphill the dawn with eyelids parting
and eyne blood-purple from insomnia.

Then lost – I asked myself:
o Sun,
how can you madly still enjoy
the rise?

And that same morning free of sleep
while taking steps of lead around
I came upon a cradle in a secret nook.
There, spiders spinning tiny their own worlds,
and caries grinding up its stillness.

I looked at it with mind mine wide aware.
It was the cradle where
a hand now greatly aged with mine that destiny
had rocked
my first e’er sleep, my first e’er dream perchance.

Recalling fingers mine
rolled petting
slowly,
slowly,
times bygone as if blind
and never knowing why
I then collapsed
and all eyne out
just started wasting tears above
my cradle.

I was so very tired
of springs,
of roses,
youth
and laughter.
Wheedling I kept searching for myself in the old cradle
Hands mine ‘round me
– the baby.

(Adapted translation Axel H. Lenn - after "Leaganul", vol. PASII PROFETULUI, 1921, by Lucian Blaga)