Ported day laborer

valeriu dg barbu

Trilingual text: English, Italian and Romanian languages (english version by Emanuel Patrascioiu)

Do you think that only a few whispered prayers
will be the price for hiring God as your ported day laborer
to carry your burdens
or that they are used as a scythe for the sins
You have not worn the shirt of your neighbor; you have not nested on a tear
The road to hell is paved with good intentions, but it sits on the ground where
the owner is the indifference


Facchino alla giornata
Credi che ti costi un paio di preghiere proferite formale
per assumere Dio come facchino giornaliero
per portarti i fardelli?
O che essi faranno di falce per l’erba impetuosa i peccati …
Non hai indossato la camicia del vicino, non ti sei annidato in una lacrima
L’inferno sia lastricato di buone intenzioni, ma si siede sul terreno dove
proprietario è l’indifferenza



View original post 56 more words


Facebook Street, number 17

valeriu dg barbu

Trilingual text: English, Italian and Romanian languages

It’s hard until the world knows you, then,
Any hiccough of yours becomes lyrical
And each sweat smells like Chanel,
Your name counts now and not your opera […]
The world wants to touch your relics,
And you, stubborn and shameless still remain alive
If a humble Willy Shakes lasts forever, it’s because
He didn’t have an account on Facebook,
That it recognizes him only as a street name, and anyway,
Who would choose today to live him, gullible in love,
Like only he can be? (english version by Emanuel Patrascioiu)


Via Facebook, numero diciassette
È difficile fino a quando il mondo ti conosce, poi,
Tuo qualsiasi singhiozzo diventa lirica
E ogni scorreggia puzza Chanel,
Il tuo nome conta adesso, e non la tua opera […]
Il mondo vuole toccare le tue reliquie,
E tu, testardo e spudorato, rimani ancora vivo
Se un…

View original post 116 more words

Adam, where are you hiding?

valeriu dg barbu

Trilingual text: English, Italian and Romanian languages

Today, we speak just about corruption
and is waiting with baited breath of rainy days
by sex and counting’s
any work moved in the words
but all of those, and the first rain, had started
the day when Adam ignorant it accepted the apple
nor the one, at least whole

Adamo, dove ti sei nascosto?
Oggi si parla solo di corruzione
E si è in attesa col fiato sospeso ai giorni di pioggia
per sesso e conteggi
qualsiasi lavoro si trasferì nelle parole
Ma, tuttavia, qualsiasi cosa e la prima pioggia, hanno iniziato
il giorno in cui Adamo ignorante ha accettato la mela
E né quello era intero

Adame, unde te-ai ascuns?
astăzi se vorbește numai despre corupție
și se-așteaptă cu sufletul la gură zilele ploioase
pentru sex și socotiri
orice muncă s-a mutat în vorbe
dar toate acestea, și întâia ploaie, au…

View original post 14 more words

Kissy ants swarming on the streets

valeriu dg barbu

Trilingual text: English, Italian and Romanian languages

Today, to know the world that you exist, you must shout
to walk with the infatuations in leash, with pedigree certificate
To have grimaces, chosen and matched, for occasional clashes with anonymous,
because everyone else is, inevitably, so
Today, to have a future, you must kill any altruistic intention
remaining, who knows how, through a dusty nook of your enormous Self
Today not is Today, as it was yesteryear
it’s a kind of Tomorrow that is forced grown up, as the chicks breeding,
Just in the streets still it saves the idea of humanity, look,
How many ants crawling pursed lips
How many industrious bumble, pulling in a leash a frisky mask…


Sciamano per le strade formiche pronte a baciare
Oggi, per sapersi che tu esisti, è necessario gridare
Camminare portando al guinzaglio l’infatuazione con certificato pedigree,
Di avere le smorfie, scelte e…

View original post 183 more words

fed up of weariness

valeriu dg barbu

Trilingual text: English, Italian and Romanian languages

Imagine a waiting room, smelling of alcohol and urine
Or a gang dedicated to breaking the thread of the mind, the school of life, here,
Among the failures that claim auras of celebrity,
Slumbers, vegetate, the generator of courage – you just have visited a ruin
The museum, not yet opened, of the unique my real self
No traces of ex – enthusiastic beginnings – boost
Nor contrails of the echo of ex-relationships, I will not tell these the loves
But, an impeccably, well-polished, condition of sublime failure, called
Life experience


Stufo di stanchezza
Immagina una sala d’attesa, maleodorante di alcool e urina
O uno gang consacrata alla rottura del filo della mente, scuola di vita, qui,
Tra i fallimenti che pretendono aura della celebrità,
Sonnecchia in vegetazione il generatore di coraggio – appena hai visitato una rovina
Il museo, non ancora inaugurato…

View original post 119 more words

too soft

valeriu dg barbu

Trilingual text: English, Italian and Romanian languages

Just when I learned to smoke
I don’t have money for cigarettes
When I learned to love
I no longer have girlfriend
When I tried to drink, it is dried the vineyard
And you still want to I do my penance
By accessing a program of salvation?…


Proprio quando ho imparato a fumare
Non ho i soldi per le sigarette
Quando ho imparato ad amare
Non ho più la fidanzata
Quando cercavo di bere, si è essiccato il vigneto
E voi volete ancora che mi facessi la mia penitenza
Accedendo a un programma di salvezza?…


tocmai când am învățat să fumez
nu mai am bani de țigări
când am învățat să iubesc
nu mai am iubită
când să beau, s-a uscat via
și voi vreți să-mi mai fac penitențe
accesând un program de mântuire?…


View original post

It hurts me every letter buried in this sheet of paper

valeriu dg barbu

Trilingual text: English, Italian and Romanian languages

Writing is an alembic in which
My body rotten is distilled
Brandy it want poetry
Writing should to heal fears
And not to increase them
Will come a time when letters will be blind and the sheet
They will not find even leaning on the pens as in a white stick


Mi fa male ogni lettera sepolta in questo foglio
La scrittura è un alambicco in cui
Il mio corpo marcio è distillato
Grappa si vuole una poesia
Lo scrivere dovrebbe guarire paure
E di non aumentarle
Verrà un tempo in cui le lettere saranno ciechi e il foglio
non lo troveranno nemmeno appoggiandosi nella penna come in un bastone bianco


Mă doare fiecare literă înmormântată în această coală
Scrisul e un alambic în care
trupul meu putred este distilat
rachiul, se vrea poezie
Scrisul ar trebui să mă vindece de spaime

View original post 24 more words

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