Cristina Moldoveanu > Writing | WritersCafe.org

It was snowing too insistently, snowflakes almost as big as the eye, over nostrils, over half-open lips, over the white lace shawl from my..

on the corridor without light every proprietor has his door behind which he repairs floors walls windows he sharpens blunt knives ..

the horse drawn wagon with a wooden heart climbs slowly without border planks the old man drives his horse at the walk as if he were cou..

i still fear heavy furniture particularly that made of black polished rotten wood ... i wouldn’t visit anymore museums or antiquity houses..

I lay on the narrow bed with my mouth open a mosquito bites my tongue just when I was dreaming to speak something about the last..

a commercial street in a city

a poem about poverty

each night I’m running through a nightmare transgressing into pink and purple since springtime until fall from my lost b..

in a world lined with tiles of mirrors I was crying my eyes out in my shard together with the walls between which the sun runs ba..