The repeatable burden by Adrian Paunescu
One who still has parents living on Earth, not in memories,
Is hearing even in his dreams the "crying eyes of the World"
Whether we've been, or not, or we are dutiful now
Today, while we're getting old, we start missing them.
What are parents? Just some humans who barely hold
the weight of so many kids and so much misfortune
Just some crosses, still alive, breathing harder,
Are those parents that always sighs.
What are parents? Just some people out there
who know by pain what's a hundred of penny
Either they are young or not in their acts
It does not matter at all.. they had been whitening while missing us.
For their child to be a little more noble, just one bit -
How much extra work, how much pain and how little sleep!
Even now, as I write , like I was screaming,
I know them and I feel them suffering somewhere.
We remember them after long weeks
Old sons that we are of older parents
If they have wood for fire, if their bones does hurt
If they didnt die sadly in their homes ...
One who has parents still living on Earth, not in Memories,
Is hearing even in his dreams the "crying eyes of the World"
Because from all the options, the harder to be
is not children of parents, but parents for thee
From the eyes of the humankind .. many teares have been cried
But for filling a flood it's far from enough
Do we still have parents? Do they still have children?
On the Earth full of tombs, just a you human better not be!
Humbled by needs and with the head bowed
In a poor town or at the end of a village
Still waiting for signs from ancestors
Or letters from children that say they are fortunate.
And as ghosts sometimes getting out.. at the gates
Telling stories about us, as about our dead uncles..
One who has parents is not lost yet,
One who has parents still has a Past
They have created us, they have raised us, they have brought us up to this point
Where.. we can have our own children...
They may seem annoying when there's nothing much we can ask from them
and in general, they are a bit pesky..
Either they dont see and hear you well.. either they make steps to small..
or you have to explain and repeat them too many times..
...
they keep asking if you know a chief of some hospital.
Isn't it that a pity will take over you,
especially while realizing the fact that they "can't " anymore?
That you feel them as a burden, and they know it as well
and they look at you as they are praying.
We.. we still have a brief time to live
Having this burden on our conscience
and after that, we' will become free under the sky
and those who keep asking will fade.
But when we'll start feeling by ourselves
that we became a burden for our own children
in a sad and far, late time,
we'll percieve with despair things we don't understand today
We'll understand why children forget so soon
and see no eyes crying in this world.
And why there are still no floods on the contents
altough it's always raining.. though it's snowing everytime
although the world we became parents
is scarred by crying for an eternity..
<This poem does not belong to me. I've only tried to translate it in english. The translation respects no rimes and is full of faults.>
One who still has parents living on Earth, not in memories,
Is hearing even in his dreams the "crying eyes of the World"
Whether we've been, or not, or we are dutiful now
Today, while we're getting old, we start missing them.
What are parents? Just some humans who barely hold
the weight of so many kids and so much misfortune
Just some crosses, still alive, breathing harder,
Are those parents that always sighs.
What are parents? Just some people out there
who know by pain what's a hundred of penny
Either they are young or not in their acts
It does not matter at all.. they had been whitening while missing us.
For their child to be a little more noble, just one bit -
How much extra work, how much pain and how little sleep!
Even now, as I write , like I was screaming,
I know them and I feel them suffering somewhere.
We remember them after long weeks
Old sons that we are of older parents
If they have wood for fire, if their bones does hurt
If they didnt die sadly in their homes ...
One who has parents still living on Earth, not in Memories,
Is hearing even in his dreams the "crying eyes of the World"
Because from all the options, the harder to be
is not children of parents, but parents for thee
From the eyes of the humankind .. many teares have been cried
But for filling a flood it's far from enough
Do we still have parents? Do they still have children?
On the Earth full of tombs, just a you human better not be!
Humbled by needs and with the head bowed
In a poor town or at the end of a village
Still waiting for signs from ancestors
Or letters from children that say they are fortunate.
And as ghosts sometimes getting out.. at the gates
Telling stories about us, as about our dead uncles..
One who has parents is not lost yet,
One who has parents still has a Past
They have created us, they have raised us, they have brought us up to this point
Where.. we can have our own children...
They may seem annoying when there's nothing much we can ask from them
and in general, they are a bit pesky..
Either they dont see and hear you well.. either they make steps to small..
or you have to explain and repeat them too many times..
...
they keep asking if you know a chief of some hospital.
Isn't it that a pity will take over you,
especially while realizing the fact that they "can't " anymore?
That you feel them as a burden, and they know it as well
and they look at you as they are praying.
We.. we still have a brief time to live
Having this burden on our conscience
and after that, we' will become free under the sky
and those who keep asking will fade.
But when we'll start feeling by ourselves
that we became a burden for our own children
in a sad and far, late time,
we'll percieve with despair things we don't understand today
We'll understand why children forget so soon
and see no eyes crying in this world.
And why there are still no floods on the contents
altough it's always raining.. though it's snowing everytime
although the world we became parents
is scarred by crying for an eternity..
<This poem does not belong to me. I've only tried to translate it in english. The translation respects no rimes and is full of faults.>
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