I’m a regular invitee to international literature festivals. I was invited to the Viento Poetry Festival in Medellin Columbia in 2022 and 2024 and at Havana Cuba Poetry Festival in 2023. And I will be at Poetry Festival in Lima, Peru, in May 2025.
Hello, everyone! I’m Victoria Dutu, a novelist and poet in Romania. I would like to invite you to read my poetry book, There is a You, which is available in English, Spanish, and Romanian on Amazon and my personal website. Download it and it costs €5, or you can be my patron by donating to my bank account or my PayPal account (victoritadutu@gmail.com) for my hard effort and dedication for the book.
Dutu Victorita
Bank euro account / IBAN / RO36 RNCB 0087 0081 7966 0014
Bank dollar account / IBAN / RO57 RNCB 0087 0081 7966 0024
Bank Lei account / IBAN / RO04 RNCB 0318 0081 7966 0001
BIC / RNCBROBU
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PayPal account
victoritadutu@gmail.com
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Revolut- my phone +40740279908
Revol Beneficiary: Victorita Dutu
IBAN: LT27 3250 0498 6498 0479 BIC/SWIFT
code: REVOLT21
Bank name and address: Revolut Bank UAB
Konstitucijos Ave. 21B, 08130, Vilnius,
Lithuania Correspondent
bank BIC: BARCGB22
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Here are my account details at Wise.
Account holder: Dutu Victorita
Bank code: BRELROBUXXX
Account number: RO27 BREL 0005 6028 6984 0100
Wise’s address: Rue du Trône 100, 3rd floor
Brussels 1050. Belgium
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My WhatsApp: +40740279908
By purchasing my book, you are sponsoring me to attend the next Poetry Festival. Your generosity and support will be highly appreciated. 
There is a You poems and paintings
The Grain of Sand
My shoulder was filled with wings that had touched the sea’s water, and in the distance of their flight, they gathered within themselves a grain of sand, which they named snowflake.
In the reality of the dream, I was only a snowflake carried by a wave, or resting at the temple of a kingfisher.
My soul is locked up in this grain of sand that reflects in the sun.
How much brightness it holds in the midst of summer!
How much sadness it carries in the night!
How much daydreaming, how much melancholy, how much purity when it holds when it is far away from every harmful glance that could destroy the words and speaking and seeing!
The mirroring in that great sea with its emerald green captures within it a storm and hurricane that are indescribable, for anyone who has never cried silently, speechless, alone in the struggle that leads to the tearing, breaking within of the sand thread, and to its transformation into tiny diamonds because it unwittingly lived in a new dimension.
Yes, yes, it happened one day, when the sun was setting in the middle of the day and the sea became a scarf, like a seagull’s tear, and the wind was ready to break everything that appeared in its path.
Then the water froze for the first time, and the sky froze into a coldness we had never seen before!
And the wings that had been crowded inside the grain of sand began to grow!
The wings held countless gazes and could understand and speak in the feather’s place what it could not say, what it could not believe could ever exist before the eyes of the world and of the light.
The stars became the grains of sand along with it, the one unknown and misunderstood!
The great sea was now the road on which it floated, toward what it saw and spoke to itself!
It was no longer crushed by any reality!
It was now a new world, where the sea, and the ocean stood in the cosmic dance, watching its dance, carried by the galactic wins, from beyond the universe that had held it so tightly within itself, in the dream, mind of a grain of sand that was only sometimes washed away by the lightning of the sky and by the waves that carried it into an indescribable, unspeakable fury for this world!
And why, why did the grain of sand have to be dirtied and crushed in this form, if its road was the sea toward the beyond of the stars that protected it with their mute light?
For the grain of sand, the stars were the windows toward the world it was meant to reach.
«El grano de arena»
Mi hombro estaba lleno de alas que rozaban el agua del mar y, en la lejanía del vuelo, recogían en ellas un grano de arena al que llamaban copo.
En la realidad del sueño, yo era solo un copo llevado por una ola o en el templo de una gaviota.
Mi alma está atrapada en este grano de arena que se refleja en el sol.
¡Cuánta brillantez tiene en pleno verano!
¡Cuánta tristeza encierra en la noche!
¡Cuánto sueño, cuánta melancolía, cuánta pureza cuando está lejos de cualquier mirada, de lo que podría mancillar su discurso, su mirada!
El reflejo en el gran mar, de su verde esmeralda, captura en sí una tormenta y un huracán indescriptibles, para aquel que no ha llorado en silencio, sin palabras, solo en la lucha que lleva al desgarro del grano de arena, y su transformación en pequeños diamantes porque vivió a regañadientes en una nueva dimensión.
Sí, sí, sucedió una vez, cuando el sol se ponía al mediodía y el mar se convirtió en una bufanda, como la lágrima de una gaviota, en un viento dispuesto a arrasar con todo a su paso.
Entonces el agua se congeló por primera vez, el cielo se congeló con una frialdad jamás vista.
Y las alas que se acurrucaban en los granos de arena comenzaron a crecer.
Las alas tenían innumerables miradas y podían comprender y expresar en su lugar lo que él no podía decir, lo que no podía creer que existiera a la vista del mundo, a la vista de la luz.
Las estrellas se convirtieron en granos de arena junto con él, lo desconocido e incomprendido.
El gran mar era ahora el camino por el que flotaba, hacia lo que veía y expresaba solo en su interior.
Ya no estaba aplastado por ninguna realidad.
Ahora se encontraba en un mundo nuevo, donde el mar, el océano, danzaba cósmicamente, observando su danza, llevado por vientos galácticos provenientes de más allá del universo que lo había retenido con tanta fuerza en su interior, en su sueño, en su mente de un grano de arena que solo a veces era bañado por el relámpago del cielo y por las olas que lo arrastraban con una furia indescriptible hacia este mundo.
¿Y por qué, por qué el grano de arena tenía que estar sucio y aplastado de esta forma, si su camino era el mar más allá de las estrellas que lo protegían con su luz silenciosa?
Para el grano de arena, las estrellas eran las ventanas al mundo al que debía llegar.
VICTORIA DUTU