Happiness is not a place on the map,

Not a geography of abundance,

But a translucent hologram projected into the marrow of being

Corina Junghiatu, a renowned bilingual poet and writer from Romania, shares her poetry

Corina Junghiatu, born on April 12, 1981, in Bucharest, Romania, is a renowned bilingual poet, writer, and literary critic. With a Master’s degree in Philology and Psychopedagogy, as well as a Bachelor’s degree in Letters and Philosophy, she has cultivated a deep passion for literature from a young age, beginning her poetic journey at 12. Fluent in five languages, Corina has made significant contributions to the literary world.

She is the author of two acclaimed poetry collections: Exile in the Light and The Ritual of a Sunrise, with a third collection currently in progress. Beyond her writing, Corina is a driving force in the global literary community. She serves as the Founder and Editor-in-Chief of Verseum Literary Journal and the Verseum Literary Forum. Additionally, she holds the role of Chief Administrator and Global Publishing Coordinator for Motivational Strips, the world’s most active writers’ forum, and acts as the Chief Advisor for the World Nations Writers’ Union in Kazakhstan.

Her literary achievements have earned her widespread recognition, including prestigious awards such as the Gujarat Sahitya Akademi Award in 2020 and the Order of Shakespeare Medal in 2021. She was also honored with the PREMIO MUNDIAL 2020 “CESAR VALLEJO” (Excellence in Literature) Award, acknowledging her exceptional contributions to the field.

Corina’s poetry has been featured in numerous national and international journals and anthologies, and she is an active participant in global poetry festivals and cultural events, often stepping into roles of co-organizer and moderator. Through her unwavering dedication to literature and culture, Corina continues to inspire and connect writers and readers worldwide.

Happiness

Happiness is not a place on the map,

Not a geography of abundance,

But a translucent hologram projected into the marrow of being,

An inner combustion sparking from an electric dream,

Pulsing through the invisible network of the spirit,

Where every atom becomes a guiding lamp,

And silence takes on the texture of an unwritten sound.

Happiness is the mute vibration of mountains,

Where clouds do not linger but pass through stone,

Where the wind does not whistle but engraves codes

Into the veins of leaves,

Where tree roots screw themselves

Into the earth’s core

Like wires carrying the memory of the world.

Happiness is a wound of light

That does not hurt but expands in circles,

A grain of sun rolling over the skin of morning,

A wing that has forgotten its body

But keeps flying.

Happiness is a hand tracing the air,

Unaware that it has just invented infinity.

***

Journey to You

I will search for you beyond time,

Where hours unravel

Into fine threads of light,

Where seconds shed their bodies

And leave behind only echoes.

I will drift, perhaps, among silver colonies

Rising from the bosom of Venus,

In a galactic symphony,

And there, I will find you again,

Dancing with the fire of comets,

In a corner of infinity

Where only we

Will know we have been.

It will be but a billion years between us,

Or perhaps just a moment,

When atoms end their searching

And we will touch,

Two fragments of sky,

Restoring a light

The universe created

At the dawn of time.

***

BALLERINA

At the heart of the stage,

Light paints a mirage:

A ballerina does not step, she floats,

Weaving a geometry of air with her soles.

An Aphrodite dances

On the slender thread of light,

A Persephone sways,

Her amber body

Pulsing like a flicker of a lamp in the night.

The silk of her steps

Rustles like jasmine petals,

Scented with rain torn upon lace,

While her tutu, a metaphor,

A wisp of burnt sugar,

Dissolves in circles

Until it becomes a dense mist of vanilla.

The violins melt into honeyed breaths,

While the piano weaves her into the air,

Imprisoning her soul in sound.

Between one dance and another,

Only the echo of an artist’s fate remains,

Born from the dust of stars,

Forever thirsting for a beauty

That cannot be grasped,

But which, with every creation,

Is reborn into infinity.

***

A Black Swan

Under the stained glass of the sky,

With a ceiling that seems to shatter

In invisible lines,

The wind unravels the chimaeras,

Leaving behind echoes

Crushed in the wake of footsteps.

Amid this spectral universe,

In the heart of emerald water,

A black swan, clad in a gown of stars

With feathers in the hue of alchemy,

Unfolds between the secretive black

And the blue of eternity,

Drawing circles of light

That defy gravity.

Its movements transform into liturgies,

Becoming incantations of the spirit

In a symphony of unexpressed emotions.

At the threshold of sunset,

When the sun, rebellious and bloodied,

Leaves scars on the texture of reality,

The swan, with wings bathed in azure,

Vanishes into its own shadow,

Transforming into a dream,

Leaving behind

The memory of an ephemeral destiny,

Where each flight is a journey

Towards the essence of the self.

In watching it, I grasp the sublime fragility

Of all beings who, like the swan,

Are condemned to dance

On the stage of the infinite,

With wings spread wide,

Ready to embrace THE LIGHT.

***

The Anatomy of Silence

Beneath the evening’s sternum,

Ink flows in reverse,

Phosphorescent veins write in the air

With living letters.

Stories rise in spirals

And burn like the seed of the first silence.

From an open book, trees begin to grow,

Their leaves are letters torn from the night,

Their roots weep in forgotten inks

And breathe shadows into the eyes

Of white stars.

Within every word hides a winter,

An amber where trembles

The shadow of a mouth that never got to utter

The true name of light.

The city’s lungs breathe in free verse,

Its buildings,

Vertebrae of a poem written from within,

In invisible blood,

Read only by those who still remember

How to fly.

And I wait for you at the edge of an alphabet

Only the dream can understand,

Where time is a blind spider,

Weaving between us

The anatomy of silence.

____________ 

Coordinated by Angela Kosta Executive Director of MIRIADE Magazine, Academic, journalist, writer, poet, essayist, literary critic, editor, translator, promoter