THE WIND

He collects leaves,
puts them together,
in red, blue, green paper
written on sheets,
pushpins stuck in them.
Passing by, he bends
over books.
his lifelong obsession.
My God, so much paper!
So many rags!
He collects them,
bundles them

day in and day out, his entire life.
You ask, “Where to?”’
«Nowhere.” I throw them away.

MARIN SORESCU, (Roemenië, 1936 – 1996)
Translation Gabriela Căluțiu Sonnenberg – Germain Droogenbroodt –

Stanley Barkan