Nicolae | Guta - Biata Mea Copilarie

"Mama," he whispered, "will I always be a worker in the dark like the others?"

She stopped her needle and looked at him. Her eyes were tired, reflecting a lifetime of "biata mea copilarie"—her own poor childhood—but she saw something in Nicolae that wasn't grey like the coal dust. Nicolae Guta - Biata mea copilarie

He was back in that leaning house in Aninoasa. He could smell the cold air and feel the rough wood of the crate beneath him. He realized then that his "poor childhood" hadn't been a curse. It had been the soil. The hardship had been the very thing that gave his voice its ache, its power, and its truth. "Mama," he whispered, "will I always be a

"The mines take your breath," she said softly, "but they cannot take your voice. Sing, Nicolae. Sing so the walls don't feel so close." He could smell the cold air and feel