Garden

Grey garlands glaze a misty-powdered sky.
Accorded rains sink strings in Mother-Earth.
Red drops of roses blazing sunset's eye.
Dead leaves like lips. Autumnal tired flirt.
Eclipse of silence chasing cloudy herd.
Nude, humble garden, waiting for God's Word

YOU

Kites of desire, colourful shadows.
Rubies on fire and breezy-blue meadows.
Autumnal flowers - fading creation.
Sleepy love hours - your silken passion.
Icily tender - my timid fears,
Melt in surrender - silver sand tears.
I am the sorrow of your wise beginning,
Rising tomorrow of your secret meaning.

*The acrostic (KRASIMIR) is the name of my husband.

Pagan September

Silent splits seconds after the summer orgy.
Only I and the four elements -
earth, air, water and fire.
Sleeping nature, diamond drops in the grass
The charming Earth lies on her green bed,
waits for the Sun - her brother and lover.

Wet Lazy Minutes

 
Grey, grey, grey...
What rainy colour in my summer day.
Wet 
lazy 
minutes
dripping
on my head,
I'm sad and lonely like a capricious cat.
 
My black ideas
fill
   my
        coffee cup.
I'm here,
             dear,
soon I'll wake you up.
And you will feel me -
sweet
         and
               very
                     hot.
I'm
     sad
           and
                 lonely
soul I have a lot.

Meditation

Last cigarette - a full stop of the day.
Short dream is coming - navy blue and heavy.
I realise there's not another way
but lonely bed-cold prison of the Devil.

The word is saving me,
my thoughts are flowing.
And I am swimming through an age of lies.
A human ocean in the ocean of ongoing -
a flame of hope, that lives in me and dies.

Pray at the Loom

You answered my prayers my dear Maria,
and sat at the loom of my autumnal dreams.
Weaving the cloth of my gossamer fears
in a teary night with fingers - moon beams.

In the shadowy whisper of my future and past
I can see the lost colours of loves and delusions,
all the men that I burnt into silken-gold dust
and the grey-haired wisdom of my latest illusion.

Weave my soul like a breeze spreading spring - resurrection,
many poems to knead in the word-holy bread.
I beg you Maria, give me hope for perfection -
let me sit at your loom with the last slipping thread.

Chocolate Tears

I don't know how my breezy soul
swirls in the spiral of a coffee universe.
And all my thoughts in chocolate flows
melt beams of sunshine in a verse.
It's five o'clock. I know somewhere
somehow you melt in chocolate tears.
I need some jazz to start the talk
spoon of despair and crumbs of fears.
And here I am - beyond the world
beneath a sky of sugar flies,
wild incarnation of the Word -
two drops of hope in coffee eyes.

Cycling Backwards

The miracle of loneliness is cycling backwards
through all blind roads of your delusions.
Beyond the meanings of forgotten words,
despite the shame of dead confusions...

The equilibrium of life is cycling backwards,
crushing the walls of bygone years,
destroying memories like stuffed, dead birds,
releasing falls of unshed tears.

The joy of love is cycling backwards,
recalling moments of un-reined affection,
forgiving pains of the inflicted hurts
uniting souls in fleeting resurrection.

Finding your essence is cycling backwards
on the lonely and only life-road.
Back to the chain of repetitive births
to the core of the genetical code...

Tradition

Let's obey the tradition, my Grandma said
in distant memory echoing
with my milk-tooth in her ethereal hand,
bleeding pain in slipping by seconds.

So she threw my innocent tooth on the tiles,
like a dice, attracting good fortune,
and the magic of winds spread my curious roots
miles away into merciless motion.

Like a blessing that lies many years beyond,
at the back of my very beginning,
like a pearl on the tiles, this unbreakable bond,
strings my soul's absolute meaning.

On the tiles of my life I still balance today
all my hopes and priceless illusions.
On the roof of my world, just to cry or to pray,
I climb ropes of deadly delusions.

I store there Cyrillic mute files -
mother tongue in a guilty-sad folder.
In idyllic and dusty А, Б, В tiles
I keep silent, alphabetical order.

Just in case not to lose in the past
Granny's fading, pagan tradition,
I continue to pile tooth by tooth on the tiles
in a lonely tenacious mission.

So today it is time for my daughter to throw
a pearly tooth on the tiles of her fortune.
And I hear the winds of my childhood blow
her beginning to a new luring ocean.

Daily escapes

When all the selfish doors lock sins
and daily curtains cover pains,
sad greedy souls like empty bins
dream stormy, purifying rains.

You come to me and strip aggression,
undress the lies - all dirty clothes.
In a silent, old-fashioned confession
reveal your stealthy, naked thoughts.

I pick up pieces for a picture
of fading dreams in fields of hopes.
Two lonely spirits in a mixture
we try to cut off our ropes.

In timelessness of selfish freedom,
we fly away - two reckless kites.
In a giggly, disrespectful rhythm
we give the neighbours sleepless nights.

We smear wildly rainbow hues
into a purple-yellow-green cocktail.
We live a note for its best use,
trading lives for a fairy tale.

A Premonition of Spring

Just remember this night, just remember...
Winter chains drag in the fields.
Gloomy-white, lacy-light, hazy-tender
flitting rains glide silver shields.

Naughty spring tickles my fears.
Swollen echo shakes up directions.
Drizzling giggle, bashful-green smears,
tousled winds - Heaven's protections.

Crazy windmills perch on the hills.
Toothless ladies flirt in a trance.
With the sunrise gleam bare heels
of young lovers in a pagan-wild dance.

Just remember this night, just remember...
Cast my love with your body-beam passion
A melting winter - I will surrender
in a flighty, vernal transgression.

A Guide of Prejudice

1.
Do not forget - to be different is bad.
Only the known is perfectly decent.
Anything new will bring bitter regret.
Only the known is accepted as recent.

2.
If you want to cry, you must be in sorrow.
Don't puzzle people with tears of joy.
Eager to die? Please do it tomorrow,
and keep it quiet. Be simple and coy.

3.
A few sparks of fame? Oh, you are a heretic!
Don’t sink yourself in a ridiculous dream!
Just play the game and don't be pathetic
and... you'd better learn to work in a team.

4.
Wear nice clothes? Think about others!
They will surely not forgive you for that.
Grow facial spots - enjoy human brothers,
show imperfections, you'll never regret!

5.
Eating junk food? This is unhealthy!
Set an example with diet control!
Starving is good - you will look slim and wealthy
and no one will dare to call you a troll.

6.
If you smoke cigarettes, take drastic measures!
Society wants you to be in good shape!
Statistical deaths caused by leisurely pleasures
deny the harmful passions of a curious ape.

7.
What can I offer as a point in conclusion?
Do you still dare to want to be mad?
Regardless, it is a cool, wild illusion
to burst, out of spite, your ticking bomb-head.

Only Mine

I love your noble, penetrating body
like an aesthete absorbed in a masterpiece.
My soul is a canvas of eternal sobbing
lined in a thunder over restless seas.

Blue loneliness in silence takes me over
when I remain to contemplate your dream.
Your perfect being opens like a clover
of joy and selfishness, innocence and sin.

Your Silence is not the Answer

in the quick sands of your eyes –
mute amber desserts, melting crawling fires.
I trade my smile –
a sunny melon slice
for an icy pause, cold coin, your desire.

Like two worlds lost –
reality and dream,
we orbit love so free of gravitation
and our words – so virtual like ghosts
have wisdom stretched to silent resignation.

We are ordained to “neverbetogether”.
Do you believe this reasonable spell?
I glide my hope – a naughty, reckless feather,
from Granny’s fan in happy fairy tell.

That is my answer to your clever quiet,
so strictly castled, piled with social musts.
Like curious and noisy human parrot
I peck your thoughts – adorable outcasts.

Beyond

Beyond the Lethean waters of my past
my mother tongue is lost in golden silence.
And loving ghosts of words in attic dust
dwell in my poems – long abandoned islands.

In crumbling treasures of unneeded sounds
in ashes my beginning dies like a candle.
My mother’s prayers fade in sunset rounds
of dripping leaves on icon of September.

Locked in the logic of my daily life,
I know exactly how to meet tomorrow.
No past, no future needed to survive.
No memories and no regrets. No sorrow.

Beyond the Lethean waters of my past
In stream of souls dissolves my lonely being.
Like a peeping flame autumnal crumbling rust,
like the signature of God on a transient meaning.

Peter

Grey-still horizon cuts those raining veins.
Oh, God, don’t tell me I’ll renounce Thee soon.
Doubts tight my heart with flaky-serpent chains.
Filigreed sadness cobwebs Paschal moon.
On human shoulders I can only bear
Rust-eaten sins with hope for rocky faith.
God, I am Peter, a stone of flesh in flare.
In rooster’s throat vibes my predicted fate.
Vain vows – my words will bitter your last bread.
Eternal solitude drips night in wine of sorrow.
My human tongue denies Thee at the gate.
Ends rooster’s song. My tears bleed tomorrow…



Two Lands

Every night I see a crossroad of a land,
green lace of sunshine, a mystic song, and fire…
And lines like roads burn ashes in my hand
when rhyme by rhyme I pile my words in pyre.

I’m lovesick, my Bulgaria, I’m…passion.
You are my heartbeat - a thunder in a rock.
And every night in ancient constellation
I read my destiny – to walk and walk, and walk…

Through myths and legends I evoke in poems,
long days and nights of solitude-routine
I earn white wisdom – my urgent, vital coins
and learn in verses how to love … and sin.

I learn to live in rainy contemplation,
to slow in order my arrhythmic pace.
I love you, England, I am simply…passion.
A burning fire in your morning haze.



Talking to My Non-Identical Twin

To Roger Humes

It is midnight my friend, I’m so lost…
Lonely winds jiggle with stars.
Strolls my soul like a desolate ghost –
smoky haze, flashy cars, drunken bars…

Tight my mind hypocritical chains –
cunning masks of sweet imperfections.
Hidden thoughts – disorderly trains –
wasted loves, slipping lives, fake reflections…

Night means freedom for all birds of prey
to spread wings in your dreams of desire,
and to crumble in pieces your day –
stupid play, hollow words burned in fire.

A tricky choice – to pray or to play?
This, my Hamlet, is not the question.
Option three – I will disobey!
Do you have any other suggestion?

Top