To YAVOROV by Nedyalko Yordanov traslated by Ann Wood
YAVOROVAnd when he arrives
in my hour set
the angry repaid
which hand will lift
close and hearty
to stop my hand?
Dimitar Boyadzhiev
What a terrible game ...
There is no one to hold your hand ...
At this moment ... In this moment ... Last ...
And this shout ... You think ... Wonderful.
I imagine ... It was like yesterday ...
The poison ... And then the revolver ...
And scary alone ... Confronted by the shame ...
And you go to Mina and Laura.
Are you going to beat the rumor?
And the vicious assaults of the crowd?
And the sneaking laugh of the sneak?
You ... The defenseless poet ... The blind ...
It is cruel ... How fast it passes
our virgin endless glory ...
"Two nice eyes" ... What a universe!
"To my death is my soul wounded."
I imagine ... And horror smacks me ...
Murderous Thunder ... "How the Echo Fades".
And you put an end to pain and insults ...
The crowd will envy you.
And then for a hundred years ...
If you are Somewhere ... At least tell us
is not there any consolation?
recognition, glory.success?
Poetry! Why are you so naughty.
No, sorry ... terribly merciless ...
One after another they leave behind
and Penyu Penev and Sergey Esenin ...
Friend ... Sometimes I ask ...
Is it me? ... No! I will not try ...
And not for fear ... And not for hopelessness ...
Live life with all its tenderness!
Live life with all its malice!
And if possible - and after the grave ...
We got away ... So decided fate ...
Otherwise, I would give up my hand ...
December 13, 2017
5.30 am - Military Hospital
I am already healthy!
Poetry by Ann Wood
Read 419 times
Written on 2017-12-14 at 09:06
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