It’s Harold’s fault – E’ colpa di Harold – Harold este de vină

valeriu dg barbu

trilingual text

Image

At subway entrances the crowd dissolves me
It reminds me of my childhood
When I was pulling bugs out of the soil with balls of tar tied with strings

Those behind plant gates
Seem trapped in forced labour camps

Millions and millions of tires, of soles pour on streets
The buzzing of the town is like a sinister crunching
The day, like a sticky paste

My chest turns into a tetra pack box
My heart a stone on the tiepin, that’s not even in fashion anymore

I pass by the maternity ward
I don’t even hear a cry, nowadays babies are born quiet
As if they knew that here is an inside, not an outside

Around me, there is a lot of talk about God
Not a minute passes without hearing: Damn – ( “Dumnezeii Masii” – Mothers’ Gods – Romanian swear word) – So, God does exist

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