"Barbès saved my Slavic soul"

Picture by Olivier Conan www.barbesbrooklyn.com

For Rob, Rachel and Ana, for Barbès and for Brooklyn

Time stopped.

I ran to Madrid’s sunny streets,
to Montpellier’s sunny seaside,
to Sofia’s sunny friends
and landed in New York
in the midst of a snowstorm.

I had gone through an earthquake.
And another one.
And one more.

My heart had broken into pieces

that were still trembling
on the hard floor of my ribs.

I was trying to catch my breath.

My head was spinning.

My song had gone silent.

The snow was numbing the pain
through a meaningless white curtain.

I was in an empty house

petting an unfriendly cat.

And Rob said :

« There is soul in Brooklyn. »
I said :
« I know. »
He said :
« No. There is Slavic soul in Brooklyn ».
I said :
« Where ? »
He said :
« Follow me. »

I was feverish. I was tired. I was hungry. I was late.

But I went.

I pushed the door.

And Barbès took me in.



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