Heavy Bread by Ivailo Balabanov traslated by Ann WoodThe poet of the town remained barefoot and naked.
He dreamed of beer - he was eating bread and salt.
He sold his guitar and then chalk,
but the bread still did not reach the kitchen table.
His soul began to descend from the sky
and went on sandals in the mud of being.
His soul wept with grief and insult,
barking and cocooning,
and then turned into a white butterfly
and flew, fleeing from his hungry body.
She began to roam in his cursed days,
but he did not recognize her, he did not even know,
that he is already soulless and that he is deaf and blind
in his blind care of his difficult bread.
And it circled all over the old piano,
he was still on Dimcho Debelyanov's volume,
until that night, when it did not slow down
to fly away from the kitchen table
and he was already blind for a long time
unwillingly tossed it under his heavy bread.
Poetry by Ann Wood
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Written on 2018-10-01 at 16:57
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