The memories hang like ripe grapes in the heavenly vineyard of August. The sun ruthlessly buzzes with honeybees and creates the feeling that a heavenly conductor moves the air to play the music of August.
The memories in August, they gather the ripe wheat and the faded past love.
And the craters of the moon at night harbor our dreams that seek their past and
future lives, their past and future happiness.
The memories in August, they go through the memories of the first love,
whose gray hair the wind gently splashes across the sky. And every encounter
with this first love of ours is like our possible life, as it could have been
if our heart was not created for much more love.
The memories in August are like the sadness about the future and the joy about
the past. They are like infidelity to you and a dream about the other. Because
the dream about the other is what moves us forward.
The memories in August are as big and bright as the distant stars in the
clear summer night, in which you are far from me. So far from me that I have to
be satisfied instead with yours with the kisses of the sun. And the kisses of
the sun are fiery and passionate, they are sweet as my longing for you, they
are salty like my tears about you.
The blue sky of August reflects the tenderness of the Mother of God, whose
life is an example of what the woman's purpose is. To give birth to God-men.
The blue sky of August reflects our grieve and pain in gathering the fruits
of our lives. To fight with the summer storms and thunders, to pass under the
rainbows to rediscover ourselves in the other.
The blue sky of August reflects the ripe fruits and flowers of the human
garden. It is as a garden painted with ladybirds and colorful butterflies. It
is as the human life gathered in August - a bridge between the pain of the
weekdays and the feast of the rich harvest, eaten and drank by the wasps and
bees, and sounded by the songs of grasshoppers.
The blue sky of August reflects my body, carefree lying down in the grass
beneath the deep shade of the trees. It reflects my body as a fertile garden
full of late fruits waiting for someone to pick them. And the trees moan
slightly and tell me about you who are so far away from me. You are so far away
from me that the sadness about you suffocates me,
and the juices run over my ripe body.
The blue sky of August is gentle as silk and deep as my heart, it is like a
promise for a new encounter. The passionate songs of the roosters announce the
new day and the new beginning, and the loyal bark of the dogs announces the
night as a promise to keep people from evil. A night in which the blue sky of
August is like a promise of infidelity that will never be revealed.
And the sunny God blushes the blue sky early in the morning and heats the
passions to fiery. The Sun God in August is the only master in the living and
non-living world. It warms the hearts, it warms the seas, so that they can flatter the
bodies and forgive their sin. The Mother of God is silently watching this
rivalry between her Son - the God-man and the sun God.
And it seems as if all nature triumphs and glorifies the power of these two
deities that are able to create so much delight for the
bodies and the senses. The swallows on the wires hang solemnly like necklaces,
suitable accessories for the sky party of blue August. The sunflower fields,
which stretch to the high blue mountains, proudly reflect the glow of the sun
God. Along with them, the herb fields scatter the aromas of the natural
aphrodisiac of the God-men.
And I'm like a delicate dandelion that everyone can blow and kill even with
a kiss. Every humiliation and disdain blow a bit out of me and kill part of my
body and my invisible soul. Every your silence is like a cruel message that
injures the little dandelion right in the heart. How can we go back and start
counting our story with a happy start and end? Do you know how to get back in time?
Because the sadness about the blue sky of August and about our innocence kills
us.
The storks carry away
the carefree blue sky in August with themselves. They
take it away as an unnecessary theatrical decor, after which everyone and
everything start to die a little. And my fertile body is like an abandoned
paradise that must say goodbye to the blue sky of August and prepare itself for
the autumn. My fertile body should prepare itself for the season, in which no
one will need it, and the dream about the salty sun kisses will be the only
thing that will comfort it at night.
The clouds send tears that dance on the memories of the blue sky of August,
in which we are all God-men mad with love.
I am away from you. You are far from me.
(Elena S. Lyubenova)
No comments:
Post a Comment