Oh, Mother Poem by Peter Mamara

by M. Eminescu (1850-1889)

Oh sweet mother… From the obscurity of time,
Through rustle of leaves, you call me to come.
In autumn, the acacia trees drop their leaves in the wind
— Above your sacred last resting place, over your dark crypt.
The trees mimic your speech, and touch with their branches.
The trees shall stroke you forever. You shall sleep forever.

When I shall die, do not cry at my head.
Break a stem from the sacred linden tree, instead.
And plant the stem at my head.
And, your tears shall drip on it.
One day, I may feel it casts a shade on my grave.
Its shade shall always grow. I shall sleep on and on.

And if we may die in each other's company,
They should not take us inside some walls of a sad cemetery.
They should dig up our grave on a riverbank
And they should place us in the same coffin.
So, you may be forever closer to me.
The waters shall shed tears on and on. We shall sleep eternally.

(1880 April the 1st)


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