{"id":15088,"date":"2024-01-06T07:22:36","date_gmt":"2024-01-06T05:22:36","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/egophobia.ro\/?p=15088"},"modified":"2024-01-05T10:30:24","modified_gmt":"2024-01-05T08:30:24","slug":"poems-by-sorana-maria-ilie","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/egophobia.ro\/?p=15088","title":{"rendered":"poems by Sorana Maria Ilie"},"content":{"rendered":"

(Lecturi potrivite\/recomandate de Alexandra)<\/span><\/p>\n

The Sun and the Moon<\/strong>
\n<\/strong>
\nIn the canvas of the cosmos, a love profound,
\nSun and Moon, in orbits, forever bound.
\nYet, a curse cast by the universe’s decree,
\nTore them apart, their love never to see.
\n
\nSunset hues painted a tale untold,
\nOf a love story, tragic and cold.
\nThe Sun, a fiery heart, burned with desire,
\nFor the distant Moon, a celestial squire.<\/p>\n

In the cosmic theatre, a plea he made,
\nTo the universe, where destinies laid.
\nA prayer whispered in the vast expanse,
\nTo reunite love, to give them a chance.<\/p>\n

But the universe, silent and stern,
\nWith power vast, in every star it’d churn.
\nA decree upheld, the cosmic divide,
\nSun and Moon in longing, forever side by side.<\/p>\n

Day after day, the Sun would yearn,
\nFor the Moon’s embrace, a love to discern.
\nYet, shadows lingered in the celestial ballet,
\nTwo celestial lovers kept at bay.<\/p>\n

The Sun, a lonely wanderer in the sky,
\nCursed to forever bid the Moon goodbye.
\nYet, in the twilight’s melancholic tune,
\nEchoed the sorrow of a sun and moon.<\/p>\n


\nGuinevere and the poet<\/strong>
\n<\/strong>
\nIn Camelot, where tales unrolled,
\nA poet’s heart in shadows strolled.
\nGuinevere, fair queen of grace,
\nCaptured his soul in love’s embrace.<\/p>\n

A slave by birth, his heart confined,
\nSilent whispers, love maligned.
\nIn verses penned with secret art,
\nHe poured his love from realms apart.<\/p>\n

Each poem a leaf on the tree’s embrace,
\nWhispering tales of forbidden poise.
\nA clandestine dance of words untold,
\nA love story in branches sold.<\/p>\n

Yet fate, a cruel and twisted jest,
\nUnveils secrets, puts love to the test.
\nKing Arthur’s wrath, a storm unleashed,
\nThe poet’s fate, in branches imprinsoned.<\/p>\n

The tree, a witness to love’s demise,
\nBears evidence as the poet cries.
\nSilent screams in the moonlit night,
\nLove extinguished, a stolen light.<\/p>\n

Guinevere weeps, a tear-stained plea,
\nA poet’s sacrifice, a tragic decree.
\nThe branches weep with poems hung,
\nA love’s requiem, his final song.<\/p>\n

In Camelot’s garden, love is but a thorn,
\nA tale of passion and hearts forlorn.
\nThe tree now weeps in sorrowful glee,
\nA tragic love, hung from its lea.<\/p>\n

The love of a character<\/strong><\/p>\n

In realms of prose, where stories live,
\nA character, his tale untold.
\nWithin the pages, a love expanded,
\nA clandestine dance in a fictional world.<\/p>\n

He, an entity of ink and phrase,
\nYearns for a gaze that forever stays.
\nIn the reader’s mind, a haven sought,
\nA love affair, intricately wrought.<\/p>\n

He speaks through lines, a silent desire,
\nIn the tapestry of words, his reality.
\nA spectral presence in the reader’s gaze,
\nA yearning plea in the author’s maze.<\/p>\n

His essence weaves through literary air,
\nA love conceived beyond the author’s lair.
\nWith every page turned, a whispered prayer,
\nThat in memory’s vault, he finds a share.<\/p>\n

As the final chapter draws near,
\nHe prays, “Reader, let my echo adhere.
\nIn the recesses of your thought, let me reside,
\nA character’s love, in your heart confide.”<\/p>\n

The closing words, a bittersweet embrace,
\nHe fades away, leaving an empty space.
\nIn the reader’s soul, a request remains,
\n“Remember me,” in literary chains.<\/p>\n

The writer <\/strong><\/p>\n

In solitude, a writer’s heart did swell,
\nCrafting worlds where tales and dreams could dwell.
\nHis pen danced upon the canvas of his mind,
\nA love, profound, in characters entwined.<\/p>\n

Within the pages, a creation so divine,
\nA love story blossomed, his secret shrine.
\nYet, he dared not unveil this tender art,
\nFor fear that truth would tear their world apart.<\/p>\n

In shadows, he lingered, love concealed,
\nHis heart’s creation, a passion revealed.
\nTo share the tale, a risk too great,
\nHe chose to guard his love’s fragile fate.<\/p>\n

Silent voices\u00a0 echoed through the night,
\nAs ink met paper, sealing his heart’s plight.
\nIn solitude, he let his essence fade,
\nA voiceless departure, love’s sacrifice made.<\/p>\n

His final chapter inscribed in the dark,
\nA love untold, an eternal spark.
\nThe writer, cursed\u00a0 with his creation’s touch ,
\nChose the quietus of love, leaving no trace.<\/p>\n

Final chapter <\/strong>
\n<\/strong>
\nIn a chapel bathed in golden light,
\nTwo hearts entwined, promising flight.
\nBeneath the arch where vows should bind,
\nA tale unfolds, love left behind.<\/p>\n

Verse one of joy, anticipation’s glow,
\nTheir hands clasped tight, love’s seeds to sow.
\nBut shadows cast on this sacred ground,
\nAs echoes of doubt start to resound.<\/p>\n

Stanza two, a hesitation’s breath,
\nA whisper of fear, a dance with death.
\nTears glisten in eyes that once sparkled bright,
\nAs the bond they sought crumbles in plain sight.<\/p>\n

The third unfolds like a wilted rose,
\nPetals of promises scattered, love’s throes.
\nA moment suspended, a shattered dream,
\nIn the hallowed space where promises gleam.<\/p>\n

Verse four, a silence descends like night,
\nEchoes of laughter now out of sight.
\nThe altar witnesses dreams unthread,
\nA love story severed, vows left unsaid.<\/p>\n

Stanza five, a rupture in destiny’s plan,
\nAs hearts falter, trying to understand.
\nLost in the ruins of what could have been,
\nThe echoes of love, a haunting din.<\/p>\n

In the sixth, a couple becomes two,
\nA painful parting, emotions askew.
\nOn the verge of forever, they find an end,
\nThe altar, a witness, love couldn’t mend.<\/p>\n

The seventh, a coda to a shattered song,
\nSilent whispers of where they went wrong.
\nFading echoes in the chapel’s space,
\nA love story paused, leaving an empty trace.<\/p>\n

Christmas tale<\/strong><\/p>\n

In the hearth’s warm glow, by the fire’s bright light,
\nChildren gather ’round, eyes sparkling bright.
\nTheir voices harmonize, a Christmas song so sweet,
\nJoyful laughter echoing, in this festive feat.<\/p>\n

Gifts wrapped with care, beneath the tree they lay,
\nA tale of wonder in each box and tray.
\nMother in the kitchen, her apron tied tight,
\nA feast unfolds, a magical night.<\/p>\n

The scent of cinnamon and roasted delight,
\nWafts through the air, a culinary sprite.
\nTurkey and spices, a symphony of taste,
\nA Christmas banquet, a memory embraced.<\/p>\n

Beyond the windowpane, a winter’s chill,
\nNature’s frosty breath, a tranquil thrill.
\nYet, in this warmth, a poignant truth unfolds,
\nOutside, some hunger, their story untold.<\/p>\n

Mother’s hands, weathered, tell a life’s tale,
\nHer hair like snow, a winter’s veil.
\nBeside her, a portrait, a grandmother’s grace,
\nA smile in the window, time cannot erase.<\/p>\n

The family gathers, a tableau in the room,
\nLove and joy, dispelling winter’s gloom.
\nIn the hearth’s warm glow, a timeless song,
\nA Christmas spirit, where memories belong.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Snow lands on top <\/strong>
\n<\/strong>
\nIn a winter’s embrace, love took its flight,
\nTwo souls entwined, in the cold so white.
\nSnowflakes whispered secrets, soft and slow,
\nA tragic tale of love destined to woe.<\/p>\n

Beneath the moon’s pale, icy glow,
\nThey danced on snow-kissed meadows below.
\nFingers entangled, hearts beating as one,
\nA love story written, yet far from done.<\/p>\n

But shadows of fate cast a chilling spell,
\nAs whispers of tragedy in the air did swell.
\nA bitter wind howled, a mournful cry,
\nYet love persisted, refusing to say goodbye.<\/p>\n

In the snow-kissed silence, fate unfurled,
\nA tragic finale for this star-crossed world.
\nTogether they lay, in a cold, white bed,
\nEntwined forever, where their love had bled.<\/p>\n

No warmth remained in the winter air,
\nAs their spirits ascended, a solemn pair.
\nEternal lovers, in the snow they sleep,
\nA tragic love, a memory to keep.<\/p>\n

The Cat and the Mouse<\/strong>
\n<\/strong>
\nAt the foggy window, where shadows play,
\nA cat and a mouse in a whispered pirouette.
\nDestiny lingers in the pale moon’s glow,
\nAs they share secrets few mortals know.<\/p>\n

The mouse, with fear in his timid eyes,
\nPleads to the cat, beneath moonlit skies.
\n“Spared me, dear feline, in this misty trance,
\nLet destiny weave a kinder circumstance.”<\/p>\n

The cat, hunger gnawing, her willing sincere,
\n“Little mouse, I beg you, let go of fear.
\nIn the cycle of life, a fate prescribed ,
\nGrant me a feast, destiny assigned.”<\/p>\n

Through the foggy veil, their words are lost,
\nA dance of survival in the moonshine frost
\nThe mouse trembles, a fragile prayer,
\n“Grant me life’s grace, let my destiny aware.”<\/p>\n

Yet, the mouse implores with a hungered plea,
\n“Embrace destiny’s script, yield to me.
\nIn the circle of life, our roles are clear,
\nLet destiny play, and banish the fear.”<\/p>\n

At the window, where fate is unveiled,
\nThe cat and mouse talk, destiny hailed.
\nA delicate balance in the misty air,
\nTheir intertwined lives, a tale to share.<\/p>\n

Party<\/strong><\/p>\n

Beneath the daily sky they gather near,
\nA celebration of insects, joyous and clear.
\nDragonflies dance with wings of sheer beauty,
\nPainting the clouds with their delicate trace .<\/p>\n

Beetles arrive, armored and bold,
\nIn hues of emerald, crimson, and gold.
\nTiny engineers, with shells so bright,
\nThey navigate the feast in the soft daylight.<\/p>\n

Butterflies flutter, a kaleidoscope of delight,
\nSipping nectar, their colors ignite.
\nWith delicate patterns, a ballroom in flight,
\nThey waltz through the air, a mesmerizing sight.<\/p>\n

Ants march in unison, a diligent throng,
\nCarrying treats, a bustling song.
\nTiny architects, with strength untold,
\nBuilding bridges of unity, steadfast and bold.<\/p>\n

Fireflies flicker, lanterns in the night,
\nTheir glow enchanting, a rhythmic light.
\nA silent symphony, they blink and weave,
\nGuiding the festivities, as the creatures believe.<\/p>\n

Crickets chirp, a melodic choir,
\nNature’s musicians, with strings of desire.
\nTheir serenade echoes through the reeds,
\nA lullaby for the lake, as the celebration proceeds.<\/p>\n

Spiders weave silken threads, an intricate lace,
\nCreating artistry in this enchanted space.
\nIn the tapestry of the twilight , each thread and strand,
\nA celebration of insects, a magical wonderland.<\/p>\n

Edenic sin <\/strong>
\n<\/strong>
\nIn Eden’s hallowed garden fair,
\nWhere hopes danced in fragrant air,
\nAdam stood, his heart laid bare,
\nDefending Eve with steadfast care.<\/p>\n

The apple gleamed with tempting hues,
\nYet Adam’s gaze held no accuse,
\nIn unity, their fate they’d choose,
\nDefying Eden’s ancient views.<\/p>\n

Eve, a partner in this dance,
\nNot the source of sin’s advance,
\nIn her eyes, a longing trance,
\nA shared choice, a jointed chance.<\/p>\n

A serpent slithered in the grass,
\nCreating\u00a0 tales of time to pass,
\nYet Adam’s love for Eve held fast,
\nAgainst the winds of shadows cast.<\/p>\n

No blame upon her shoulders pressed,
\nIn unity, their hearts confessed,
\nThe apple tasted, sin addressed,
\nTheir bond endured, love’s sweet bequest.<\/p>\n

In Eden’s groves, where echoes sing,
\nAdam’s voice rose, defending wings,
\nEve, his partner, in love’s springs,
\nA dance of choice, where freedom rings.<\/p>\n

For in this tale, their love defines,
\nA bond unbroken, that forever twines,
\nIn Eden’s garden, where sunlight shines,
\nAdam defends, as love aligns.<\/p>\n

Through stanzas spun with threads of grace,
\nIn Eden’s heart, a sacred space,
\nAdam stands, a fully\u00a0 brace,
\nDefending Eve, in love’s embrace.<\/p>\n

So let the tale be told anew,
\nOf Adam’s love, forever true,
\nDefying blame, the skies they strew,
\nIn Eden’s sin, their love imbued.<\/p>\n

#<\/p>\n

Sorana Maria Ilie (n. 2002, Buz\u0103u) este scriitoare de literatur\u0103 contemporan\u0103 (poezie, proz\u0103), student-filolog la Facultatea de Litere \u0219i \u0218tiin\u021be din Ploie\u0219ti, editor \u0219i redactor de carte, colabor\u00e2nd \u00een 2020 cu revista POV21, at\u00e2t \u00een calitate de editor c\u00e2t \u0219i de jurnalist, cu autori precum Raluca Iacob (autoarea romanului \u201eP\u0103cate Arse\u201d), Oana Nicoleta Boabe\u0219 (coordonatorul blog-ului \u201ePetale de cerneal\u0103\u201d).<\/p>\n

A debutat \u00een revista \u0219colar\u0103 \u201eMetronom\u201d din cadrul Colegiului Pedagogic \u201eSpiru Haret\u201d din Buz\u0103u \u00een 2018 cu poezii \u0219i fragmente de proz\u0103 scurt\u0103. \u00cen 2022 a publicat primul volum de poezie, \u00een limba englez\u0103, \u201eWhen the night stops falling\u201d ( Amazon.co.uk, 2022), \u00een prezent lucr\u00e2nd la un al doilea volum ce va completa seria \u0219i a unui volum despre impactul overthinking-ului asupra noastr\u0103. A colaborat cu reviste precum Proezia \u0219i eCreator, unde a publica poezii \u0219i fragmente de proz\u0103.<\/p>\n

O serie de aprecieri \u0219i comentarii favorabile au fost f\u0103cute de bloggeri, scriitori \u0219i profesori universitari deopotriv\u0103:<\/p>\n

\u201eScrisul Soranei Ilie este un scris \u00eendr\u0103zne\u021b, c\u0103rnos, vivace, care te seduce. Cuvintele, chiar \u0219i cele mai neobi\u0219nuite, i se supun, obediente, ca unui st\u0103p\u00e2n omnipotent, nu din cauz\u0103 c\u0103 le ame\u021bit\u0103, \u0219fichiuindu-le biciul pe la urechi, ci tocmai pentru c\u0103 le mome\u0219te cu v\u0103p\u0103i interioare. Vocabulele sunt chemate s\u0103 irite retina, s\u0103 ultragieze nasurile sensibile \u0219i s\u0103 m\u00e2ng\u00e2ie inimile dornice de adev\u0103ruri greu de rostit.<\/p>\n

Ideile cuceresc prin ineditul imaginilor \u00een care se toarn\u0103. Magia incantatorie a textului care se na\u0219te dintr-un condei \u00eenzestrat nu este \u00eenzestrat pentru pudibonzi, ci pentru acei cititori avizi de dulcea otrav\u0103 a cuv\u00e2ntului care na\u0219te lumi.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 (Lucia Ispas, profesor universitar)<\/p>\n

\u201ePe Sorana o cunosc de mai bine de 2 ani. Am avut ocazia s\u0103 lucrez cu ea \u00een ceea ce a privit manuscrisul c\u0103r\u021bii mele, \u201eScris \u00een stele\u201d. Este un editor \u0219i un beta-reader dedicat care are foarte mult\u0103 r\u0103bdare s\u0103 te \u00eenve\u021be \u0219i s\u0103 te ajute s\u0103 \u00ee\u021bi perfec\u021bionezi lucrarea. De regul\u0103, nu citesc poezii, dar \u201eWhen the night stops falling\u201d este un volum scris cu mult\u0103 pasiune pe care l-a\u0219 citi de nenum\u0103rate ori f\u0103r\u0103 s\u0103 m\u0103 plictisesc.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 (Oana Nicoleta Boabe\u0219, Blogger)<\/p>\n

\u201eScriitor fiind, mi-a fost mereu greu s\u0103 m\u0103 rezum la cuvinte pu\u021bine. Cu siguran\u021b\u0103 nu m-a\u0219 putea descrie \u00eentr-un singur cuv\u00e2nt, dar pot face asta cu Sorana. Cuv\u00e2ntul ei e art\u0103. Sorana, \u00een tot ceea ce face sau spune, e art\u0103. Cuvintele pe care le a\u0219terne \u00eentr-un ritm ame\u021bitor pe foaie te iau \u0219i te poart\u0103 \u00een realit\u0103\u021bi \u0219i \u00een istorii \u0219tiute, p\u00e2n\u0103 atunci, doar de ea. Cuvintele ei sunt puternice \u0219i nu dureaz\u0103 mult p\u00e2n\u0103 s\u0103 te acapareze. Scriitura ei d\u0103 dependen\u021b\u0103. Odat\u0103 ce i-ai citit r\u00e2ndurile, dar \u0219i ceea ce se afl\u0103 printre ele, nu mai po\u021bi \u0219i nu mai vrei s\u0103 ie\u0219i din lumea ei. \u00cen ceea ce-i prive\u0219te contribu\u021biile ca editor, Sorana e \u00eenc\u0103 t\u00e2n\u0103r\u0103, dar face performan\u021b\u0103 din asta. Te cite\u0219te de la \u00eenceput pe tine, autorul din spatele cuvintelor, apoi se transform\u0103 \u00eentr-o prelungire a m\u00e2inilor \u0219i a min\u021bii tale, a c\u0103rei viziune o completeaz\u0103 perfect pe a ta.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 (Raluca Iacob, scriitor)<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

(Lecturi potrivite\/recomandate de Alexandra) The Sun and the Moon In the canvas of the cosmos, a love profound, Sun and Moon, in orbits, forever bound. Yet, a curse cast by the universe’s decree, Tore them apart, their love never to see.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":2,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"jetpack_post_was_ever_published":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_access":"","_jetpack_dont_email_post_to_subs":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_tier_id":0,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paywalled_content":false,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paid_content":false,"footnotes":""},"categories":[1681,77,1279],"tags":[1216,1682,1123,1280,1689],"class_list":["post-15088","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-egophobia-79-80","category-english","category-lecturi-potrivite","tag-alexandra-medaru","tag-egophobia-79-80","tag-english","tag-lecturi-potrivite","tag-sorana-maria-ilie"],"jetpack_featured_media_url":"","jetpack_sharing_enabled":true,"jetpack_shortlink":"https:\/\/wp.me\/p6DakB-3Vm","_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/egophobia.ro\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/15088","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/egophobia.ro\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/egophobia.ro\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/egophobia.ro\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/2"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/egophobia.ro\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=15088"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/egophobia.ro\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/15088\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":15089,"href":"https:\/\/egophobia.ro\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/15088\/revisions\/15089"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/egophobia.ro\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=15088"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/egophobia.ro\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=15088"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/egophobia.ro\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=15088"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}