«No bliss or happiness is needed, / My husband is off to his dear, / And my child is pleased and depleted / As I put him to bed, sitting near. Soon, again, to my room, I’ll depart, / To the Mother of God, I’ll be praying… / To live like a hermit – it’s hard, / But it’s harder...»
«The spring was still mysterious and gentle, / Across the hills, transparent winds would stray. / A lake was glowing blue — as though a temple / Of John the Baptist, which was not man-made. You were then still frightened by our meeting, / I prayed, already, for the second one, — / And ...»
«The city’s gone, the final window gazed, / As if alive, with melancholy, stark… / This seems to me — a strange and foreign place, / It smells of burning and the fields are dark. But once the hesitant crescent, again, / Slashed the curtain of the thunderous cloud: / We watched: A tir...»
«O, there are words that cannot be repeated, / Whoever said them — overspent his due. / The only things that cannot be depleted / Are God’s forgiveness and the heaven’s blue.»