Ioana_the_scientist
I return to poetry with a quieter flame,
A third collection shaped by a different name.
This time, my thoughts unfold in a borrowed sound,
Where English gathers what my heart has found.
Each line is a pulse, deliberate and bare,
A trace of inner weather, exposed to the air.
Not born of this language, yet held in its frame,
I bend it with care to pronounce what I am.
Here, feelings are formed in unfamiliar light,
Asked not to be perfect, but honest and right.
These poems do not shout-they linger, they stay,
Inviting the reader to pause and to weigh.
I ask you to enter with patience and grace,
To read what is meant, not the marks on the page.
For poetry lives in the space between rules,
Where intention outweighs the sharpness of tools.
These poems are bound to me, by right and by name,
They carry my mark, my voice, my flame.
I ask, with respect, they not be claimed or reused,
Nor altered, nor taken, nor wrongly accused.
Like embers held close, still warm in the air,
I leave you these words, entrusted with care.
A testament of closeness, of presence, of truth,
Of moments shared gently, in silence as proof.
ioana