I am a woman with quiet black eyes,
I am the one painted by Eminescu.
My palms will hold your heart...
And if you`ll let me listen
I will touch her every room
And she will breathe love more easier.
My palm will caress your face and, when
my lips will speak your name in breezes,
maybe you`ll understand that I don`t know...
I don`t know what it means to call with flash.
You`ll understand that I know and understand
only the poppies and the corn flowers that you seduce me with...
from the yellow wheat field of the Romanian village.
Sometimes I feel like a lost child from a corner to the other
On the map of your smile offered to me, sometimes...
But nestled somewhere,
in the longitude of that smile
I flow through latitude in one fairy something
and I am not a child anymore...Then,
I
am
a woman...
Then I am a Romanian woman.
Man, if you were to be mine
it would mean to breathe my naivety
with the same taste that i breathe
this feeling of home.
This woman is me.