Song by Nichita Stanescu

Only the present instant has memories.
What really took place, no one knows.
The dead exchange all the time with each other,
they change their names, their numbers, one, two, three…
Only the future really exists,
only the things that did not happen happen,
the events that have not yet taken place
hang from the branch of a tree,
which is not born itself,
a sort of half ghost.
The only body I have that really exists is the body
I will have as an old man, of wood and of stone.

My grief hears the barking of the unborn dogs
barking at the men not yet born.
Oh only those men and dogs will really exist!
We the living are a night dream, elegant,
with thousands of feet, running everywhere!