I look down upon you, my city, Cluj, the scene of my romances.
Watching each and every passerby from the main square
to the station, seeking familiar faces in my mind, images’
recollection:
there, the street where a former love of mine once lived,
where I lived, too,
just to the right, and the smoke-filled pubs, and the station
where you always arrive, only to arrive anew.
I look down upon you, my city, Cluj, the scene of my romances.
The bunch of silent ones standing and waiting for some kind
of resolution, but in the end, they wander off to a downtown dive,
get drunk, kick some familiar sorrow
in the ass, and off they go.
I look down upon you, my city, Cluj, the scene of my romances.
The central park, where some girls were laid,
lingering till dawn, waiting for the breaking of the day
only to leave, aiming to stretch boredom to its limit at some exam,
then declaring that nothing matters in the expanding darkness,
listening to friends, taming some thought all the way home,
claiming there’s no beyond from this point.
Manolis Aligizakis 