Dan Desliu

The tidings about the Babu's death, alias Gheorghe Ursu, came to me in the pathetic decline of year 1985. Some torturers, at the service oh non-humans, cowardly executed him, for the only reason that certain persons from his entourage to see what could happened to them when it comes to the point….
And what Babu had done, what kind of danger represented him? He simply drew up a personal chronicle, a diary in which he daily noted scenes of the tragedy from this convict prison in which we were forced to live for decades. It wasn't his intention to publish them, to diffuse.
He essentially remained a big child, pure as a tear, and very confident in the history's immanent justice - a child disguised himself in a lively man with a great longing for improvement. From all I know, Babu - Gheorghe Ursu - published only a booklet of poems, "Always two", in 1971, the year of his "official" returning at Communist Party's dogmatism - at Publishing House "Litera".
A wormwood lyricism passes through this shaking confession. Babu's infinite love, my dear friend and mate of scoffed ideals, that love which brought us together in our adolescence, died in the same way as he died, crushed under heels of Ceausescu's infernal machine.
Dirty paws hacked an exceptional soul, a dreamer, and a genuine man. Repressing my thrill of pain, I can't stop asking with stupefaction: How it is possible that today, in the middle of 1990's summer, the murderer (murderers) aren't held responsible for their fact, why they aren't public give away, why they aren't punished according to the law?
It is completely impossible for me, thinking to Babu, or to others, known people, or, forgotten ones even to whisper- no question of a cry - " Long live Freedom!".