Why Should You Die Poem by Peter Mamara

by M. Eminescu (1850-1889)

You are not pretty, Martha, but when your blond head leans
With charm on your chest, which sighs,
You seem to me an angel, who cries loudly on a pile of rubbish,
Or like a dazzling moon, on a drifter of a mist.

So, you too, pass through the world, like a legend of a prophet.
You are poor, although you're rich. You're sad, but funny.
Why cry? Why you want to die? Why should you be to blame
If your face is unattractive, while your years are hot blooded?

If you knew how much your feelings and your loving stare
Makes you desirable and worthy of being loved,
You may laugh with tears on your eyes,
You may hide your sweet sneaky face in your blond hair.

Others are much prettier, much prouder, and much wealthier,
But like a cold statue, they don't have heart at all.
While you, have a pure heart, and are trustworthy like an angel.
And you would keep an eye on the one you love, forever.

Wipe your eyes blonde Martha you. Your big and intense blue eyes,
Like two stars, are like the eternity, and like your friendly spirit.
Oh, you don't know how sweet, how tender, and how marvellous is
For one to become disoriented in your eyes — shined in heavy tears.

Oh smile, smile at last, so I can see you as a saint
— A martyr, who smiles for the world's desire and torment,
While her sweet eyes, and yet full of tears,
Would look up to the starry dome for prayers.

Have you smiled? Oh, you are pretty. An angel from paradise you are.
And looking at you, I'm afraid… since I swear
I wouldn't be surprised if you grew wings and you flew to heavens
And looked at the wicked guys, how they fade away in the abyss.

(1869)

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