I will not write a poem. Unless the poem scribbles itself, I stubbornly stand for the prose unleashed from the uncried tears of a child, unborn yet ready to exist. A child who sees injustice, who fails to understand the lies unless a story’s on the stage, a different one than the reality of life.
We learn a language, we learn to use words which are defined and have the meanings that were given by our ancestors, improved by our linguists and so on. Words delineate every thing from everything. It’s quite simple when we think about the words that define objects (material things). But when it comes to the
Prior to 1989, the communist regime in Romania wouldn’t recognize the existence of homeless people, not even if threatened with a war. There was no news about the number of children taken in orphanages nor the real situation of such places. After 1989, there were numerous documentaries, articles in foreign media showing the miserable condition
In August 2016 I had the chance to be in Edinburgh, for the first time, during the Fringe Festival. I loved the entire world there. The arts were living among the people and people were breathing them. It was so inspiring that a new play appeared in my mind right there, an inspiration that was