Cities are wizards clad in robes of cement and thought

Cities are wizards clad in robes of cement and thought, Constan?a, ancient priestess, wears veils woven from the whirl of time. Timi?oara, enchanting and magical, sways to rhythms of foam and salt, Whispers fairy tales to the moon’s ear, on lanes sparkling with secrets. Bucharest, young sorcerer, with raven feathers hidden under a cloak of mist, Plays on stone streets with spells from Vlad’s elusive paradigm. Passing shadows slip through his nimble spells, vibrating unseen, Unclaimed, with the past on his back, he stretches dreams of freedom in every frost. Ia?i, the eternal lover of the night, with a heart flickering beneath the mature moon, Flutters through neighborhoods like a conspiracy of romance against destiny. Every crossroad echoes with the duet of his love with his mysterious lady, Where the equinox kisses the solstice, in games of flame and slender shadow. No statistical register can decode the mastery with which these soul-statuses intertwine, Springing towards the sky, in their diaphanous arc, transcending people and earthly laws. They are cosmic tangles dancing at the edge of our understanding, Each stone, a talisman, each street, a labyrinth barely starting to whisper the secret of eternity.