Lost In The Pain Poem by Peter Mamara

by M. Eminescu (1850-1889)

Being lost in the pain of my insignificance —
Like lightning into a chasm, like a leaf on water —
I devoted myself to the sun and the moon, like an astrologer,
So the planets can allow my way in, to the eternal rest.
People shouldn't hear a thing about the misery of my existence.
I should go through life like a breeze, like a sound… fast.
Or, like the tear that a woman sheds without reason.
My pathetic mind is a framework of dreams.

Since, what is a poet in this world? And today, what is a bard?
Should anyone who wishes, listen to his lonely voice?
Unheard of, he slips away through this world.
And no one asks who is he, and who he was…
He is a bubble of froth, a distortion in a wave, a name
Which, he shyly takes a chance in a century tough as steel.
Better if he never had been in this world.
Instead of vanishing now, much better if I'd died in the past.
(1876)

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