flowing – scorrere – curgere

valeriu dg barbu

trilingual text


There is no youth, nor old age
Everything is running in a stream towards a stainless steel luxurious nothing
The butterflies of the world are born from the second hands hidden in my belly
They have eternal wings just like our dreams
(After these two aberrations – as you would say – passed as motto comes
Comes a sort of cosmic ocean where nobody can hold in hand the palette,
You call it destiny; I call it the propeller of an impotent second hand…)
No butterfly is survived by your love if
You don’t throw yourselves in the ocean without the pretention of being good swimmers
Without the aspiration that you hold the reins
Let your bellies be born of my belly like butterflies …
There is no youth, remember, nor old age, or palettes…
Just an ocean in which we are and we are…

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