Corina Junghiatu (Romania)

Corina Junghiatu (Romania)

Corina Junghiatu has been writing poetry since she was 13 years old. She is born in Romania, Bucharest, in 12.04.1981. Corina has written and publishing two books of poetry: „Exile in the light” and „The ritual of a Sunrise”.

Her writing have appeared in nationally and internationally forums such as: journals, anthologies, magazine, newspapers and won several poetry awards from prestigious organisations, published in Italy, Belgium, Mexic, U.S.A, South Africa, India, Tunisia, Morocco, Serbia, Montenegro and Romania. She studied English and Italian Literature in University Bucharest.

Corina Junghiatu is Director of the “Romanian Voice Magazine” and Director of “World Poets Association” ( Romania), is also book editor at “Liric Graph” publishing house.

Corina is unique and versatile in his own style and diction. She loves nature, humanity, spiritualism, reading, travelling and she has interest in Art, Painting, Philosophy, Theology, Psychology but Poetry is the essence of her existence.


Poems by Corina Junghiatu


The allegory of happiness
a mystical privilege,
reward received from the Universe
when we are grateful to the Absolute
for our own life,
without constraints, without conflicts,
without fears, trust in the peace of your dream
put in the service of a great purpose.
intense flow from the fountain of the heart,
gust of wind in the crust of the soul
which stimulates and surrounds.
divine revelation dissolved
from the magic of the azure,
fluid as a fragile shadow,
born of the white spaces of the self
carved in the light of gratitude
that we are this spark of life.
I am not yet born
I am not yet born, I’m still a particle
In the Universe
I look for the place where my seed
Will come to life
I choose to be born in each of the colours
Of the rainbow,
Or in a tree circle,
Or in a white rose,
Or in a coral of the shell,
But when the dream ends
There is a place where I go
In a mixture of a casualty
Called LIFE…
From Angels jump shrapnel,
The wise men of the time gathers them,
Then they hide them at the top of the plopar,
Or on the root of the mountains.
In the womb of the Cosmos
The Earth is born, the human is born
And the book of divine figures
Gather and share the life.
A human becomes a sham
Of qualities and defects,
Feverish starts looking for mystery,
But the roots of the mysteries
Are not of the man,
Are of the heaven
Are of the earth.
Man… Explosion!

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