WINTER WISHES

(a poem by 11 years old Emma)  

Emma Dimitrova's version of  'Starry Night'
of Vincent van Gogh

May there be fire in the hearth,

May the walls stand still and strong,

May the cooking pot be ever full,

May the larder be stocked high,

May there be clothes in the cupboard.

May the year be full of joy,

Sweet like honey!

May the woes of life disappear,

Like flies in a web!

May our year be long and rich,

And beautiful like an evergreen tree!

A FLICKERING LIGHT

(a poem by 11 years old Emma) 

The flickering candle sits in her hands,

Emitting a soft warm glow.

It strives to be seen, noticed,

Just like her.

The girl has lost nothing,

Yet this flickering light is all she has.

A flickering hope, yet there it is,

Lighting up her small face.

The candle burns in her hand,

Dripping hot wax.

Slowly, the light burns down,

Leaving it's thoughts in the cold air.

Remember me, it whispers.

The girl does not forget.

The candle's legacy stays with her,

As they travel through time and space.

Together, a lost hope, steady like the wind.

THE LIFE OF A FOX

(a poem by 11 years old Emma) 

Waking up in the dead of the night,

Sleek red coat shining,

Powerful paws pad silently,

Gleaming eyes forever watching.

Presence unknown,

A watchful spy,

The king of the streets,

Seeking a meal, food in mind,

Like everybody else.

A pigeon spotted,

The promise of a meal, the first in days.

It's perched on a low branch,

I'm sorry, you think, but the cubs will starve,

What comes goes, it's the way of life.

You calculate the distance off the ground,

Ears shivering, nose twitching,

Claws out, teeth bared.

Crouching ready.

Silence.

You leap up off the ground.

A squawk.

MY FAMILY

  (a poem by 11 years old Emma)

My family creates, explores, feels,

We can be as kind as kittens,

Or as angry as eels.

My family moves, flows, loves,

Not always earthbound,

We soar as freely as doves.

We smile, laugh and frown,

If you're caught doing that,

It'll soon be turned upside down.

Together we travel the world.

Landmark to landmark,

Memories unfurl.

СЪВЕТИ КЪМ ВЪЗРАСТНИТЕ

Не лъжете децата, за да се научат на честност.

Обичайте децата, за да се научат да обичат.

Разговаряйте с децата, за да се научат да разговарят.

Изслушвайте децата, за да се научат да изслушват.

Бъдете търпеливи с децата, за да се научат на търпение.

Вярвайте на децата, за да се научат да си вярват.

Приемайте ги като равни, за да се научат да се приемат като равни.

Обичайте децата безусловно, за да се научат и те на безусловна любов.

Приемайте децата такива, каквито са, за да се научат и те да се приемат такива, каквито са.

Вярвайте в безграничния потенциал на децата, за да се научат и те да вярват в своя потенциал.

Искрено се интересувайте от мнението на децата, за да се научат и те, че тяхното мнение има значение.

Грижете се, борете се, подкрепяйте децата, за да се научат и те да се грижат, подкрепят и да се борят за друго човешко същество.

Бъдете добри с децата, за да се научат и те да са добри с останалите.

THE GOOD KING AND THE BAD KING

(a poem by 11 years old Emma)

I had an old teacher,                                            

Yes, he is quite an odd creature,

Everything he said was such surprise,

I promise, you, he is wise!

One day he told me,

Nothing in this world is free.

Especially triumph and success.

I pondered over this,

And asked him how he knew.

He took me to the corner,

And sat down on a chair,

I knew a story would start,

So I sat by his side, and listened.

He spoke of a Bad King,

Greedy and rich,

Who would do anything for more money,

He thought it grew on trees.

Soon all came to hate him,

And some plotted his death.

The public wanted a good king,

Not a lazy, wealth-seeking monster.

ЗА УЧИТЕЛИТЕ ДВОЙКАДЖИИ

Най-голямата беда на образованието не са децата двойкаджии. 

Не, не са те, защото те са в процес на развитие, те имат шанс да се развият и  полетят.

 Двойките са все пак само цифри, а никоя цифра не е в състояние да 

фиксира и обхване целия потенциал на детето, тя 

обикновено фиксира

 някакво негово временно състояние.

Най-голямата беда на образованието са учителите двойкаджии, пълно е с такива. 

Учителите двойкаджии са онези, които са дошли в образователната сфера

по някакви си техни сметки, в които обикновено децата и тяхното развитие 

не влизат изобщо. 

Учителите двойкаджии виждат децата само като цифри и проценти, 

заковани веднъж завинаги. 

Те са слепи за потенциала и за неговото развитие, с цифрите си присъди те

 всъщност убиват потенциала, защото им е по-важно да отчетат процентите на успеха. 

Учителите двойкаджии не вярват в безграничния потенциал на децата, те ги 

виждат само като обект на постоянна критика, присъди, наказания, забрани,

 крещене и психически тормоз, а не като личности, които имат нужда от 

вдъхновението и любящата ръка на възрастните, която ще ги придържа, 

докато се научат да летят сами. Когато говорим колко са лоши, невъзпитани, 

по-слабо грамотни и незнаещи днес децата, не трябва да забравяме, че това 

се дължи и на авторитарно-командните методи на учителите двойкаджии. 

REFLECTION

You are a unique phenomenon and I admire you. This is what I say, and you fly on the wings of joy. When life is about to conquer you, I appear before you and give meaning to your days. Your eyes are sparkling and inspired again. You believe in yourself again and do not let the little storms and losses to defeat you. I am your gentle inspiration. You are a unique phenomenon and I admire you. That's what say my heart, and my eyes follow you with faith and blessing everywhere. Because you appeared in my life when it began to lose its meaning. I needed some uniqueness, and you were ready for that role. So for me you are a unique phenomenon and I admire you.

I am a unique phenomenon. You say to yourself. I am a unique phenomenon because you admire me. I can do anything, I am invincible.

You are brave and invincible. You are where the danger is in my way, and I cannot do anything to stop it from beating me. When the black clouds hung over my head like ripe blackberries in August and the wind carried them where they shouldn't be. Then you appear, overcome yourself and your fear in the name of my faith in you. Your courage comes from me and it fills you. You can handle all the gloomy and sad monsters of the world because I believe in you. White pigeons write in the sky the news of your courage and victory. And the feathers of white doves cover the human world with innocence and inspiration for victory.

AUTUMN

(a poem by 11 years old Emma)

Last few rays of sunlight shine,

For the summer it's no longer time,

Bright green leaves fade,

To orange, red, yellow.

The gentle breeze grows,

Into howling winds,

The smell of dying late summer rose,

Mixed with the scent of musty fallen leaves.

Relaxing evening walks in the park,

The trees on fire with the golden leaves,

They're a tornado rustling around me,

The night coming quicker now, light to dark.

ОТРАЖЕНИЕ

Ти си уникално явление и аз ти се възхищавам. Това казвам аз и ти политаш на крилете на радостта. Когато животът е на път да те победи, аз се появявам пред теб и придавам смисъл на твоите дни. Очите ти отново са искрящи и вдъхновени. Ти отново вярваш в себе си и не се оставяш малките житейски бури и загуби да те победят. Аз съм твоето нежно вдъхновение. Ти си уникално явление и аз ти се възхищавам. Така казва моето сърце, а очите ми те следват навсякъде с вяра и благословение. Защото ти се появи в живота ми, когато той започваше да губи своя смисъл. Аз имах нужда от уникалност, а ти беше готов за тази роля. Затова за мен ти си уникално явление и аз ти се възхищавам.

Аз съм уникално явление. Казваш си ти. Аз съм уникално явление, щом ти ми се възхищаваш. Аз мога всичко, аз съм непобедим.

Ти си смел и непобедим. Ти си там, където опасността е застанала на пътя ми, а аз не мога да направя нищо, за да и попреча да ме победи. Когато черните облаци са надвиснали над моята глава като узрели къпини през август и вятърът ги носи там, където те не трябва да бъдат. Тогава ти се появяваш, преодоляваш себе си и своя страх в името на моята вяра в теб. Твоята смелост идва от мен и те изпълва целия. Ти можеш да се справиш с всички мрачни и тъжни чудовища на света, защото аз вярвам в теб. Бели гълъби изписват на небето новината за твоята смелост и победа. А перата от белите гълъби покриват човешкия свят с невинност и вдъхновение за победи.

CLOSE TO YOU

The thought of being mortal hurts the most. The thought of being alone in space is unbearable. The thought that love sooner or later ends and goes away is approaching death faster than anything. What can we do to stop time from running so ruthlessly fast? Tell us what to do.

I tried to forget about my mortality in love. But it made me a slave to the thought of you and took away my freedom. Freedom stands above all else. And I want to be free. To be close to you.

I tried to look for oblivion in the beauty around. But I found with pain that it was mortal. We get used to beauty and it stops being so beautiful. Seasons are born and die. The sun rises and sets. Your smile is no longer only mine. My heart is too small to hold so many losses. To be born again with every sunrise, every season and hope for your smile, designed only for me. To be close to you.

I tried to look for oblivion in the carnal pleasures. But I exhausted my body with lies and pretense. From the illusion of the moment. From the pain of creation. But I also endured it. To be close to you.

I tried to look for oblivion in knowledge. I was ruthlessly accumulating tons of wisdom until I completely forgot about you and imagined that I was above everything and everyone. Knowledge made me selfish and self-sufficient. And I needed your love. I needed the warmth of your smile. To be close to you.

I tried to look for oblivion in money. But the worm of my complacency grew with each passing day, threatening to destroy me. And then I lost everything. And I was left naked in my loneliness, but rich in the joy of loss. To be close to you.

БЛИЗО ДО ТЕБ

Мисълта, че сме смъртни, боли повече от всичко. Мисълта, че сме сами в космоса е непоносима. Мисълта, че любовта рано или късно свършва и си отива, приближава смъртта по-бързо от всичко. Какво да направим, за да спрем времето да тече така безмилостно бързо? Кажи какво да направим?

Опитах да търся забрава за моята смъртност в любовта. Но това ме направи роб на мисълта за теб и отне свободата ми. Свободата стои над всичко. А аз искам да съм свободна. За да съм близо до теб.

Опитах да търся забрава в красотата наоколо. Но с болка открих, че тя е тленна. Ние свикваме с нея и тя престава да е толкова красива. Сезоните се раждат и умират. Слънцето изгрява и залязва. Твоята усмивка вече не е само моя. Моето сърце е твърде малко, за да побере толкова много загуби. За да се роди отново с всеки изгрев, всеки сезон и надежда за твоя усмивка, предназначена само за мен. За да съм близо до теб.

Опитах да търся забрава в плътските наслади. Но изтощих тялото си от лъжи и преструвки. От илюзията на мига. От болката на сътворението. Но изтърпях и това. За да съм близо до теб.

Опитах да търся забрава в знанието. Трупах безмилостно тонове мъдрост, докато забравих напълно за теб и си въобразих, че аз съм над всичко и всеки. Знанието ме направи себична и самодостатъчна. А аз имах нужда от твоята любов. Имах нужда от топлината на твоята усмивка. За да съм близо до теб.

BULGARIA

(a poem by 10 year old Emma)

Beautiful Bulgaria, so old and wise,

Yet again has won the prize,

For entertainment and pleasure,

Here you will unlock secrets; and troves of treasure.

Something special always awaits,

It was just the norm but Bulgaria recreates,

The things you usually do,

Into memories to view and review.

To the east, to the coastline,

The blazing sun will shine,

Warming the water and your heart,

When you come you can never part.

LITTLE BUBBLES OF HOPE

(a poem by 10 year old Emma)

I gaze at the amber setting sun,

Watch as the night creeps into the tranquil sky.

The last few delicate wisps of cloud,

Prance across the sky, so proud.

As I gaped at the magnificent stars,

The galaxies, comets, scattered around the sky,

I noticed something out of the corner of my eye.

It glittered and shimmered and rose like a bird,

A small sphere of air, ambition and belief,

Knowing it can do anything,

And everything.

Little bubbles of hope,

Radiating with the knowledge,

That anything can be done,

If you want it.

RECIPE FOR HAPPINESS

(a poem by 10 year old Emma)

First of all, to prepare,

You need to be fully aware,

Of things that bring joy in life,

Not the things that bring you strife.

To achieve maximum joy,

It's vital to know how to enjoy,

The simple things around,

To know that they are safe and sound.

A dash of love,

A sprinkle of goodness,

One for a dove,

Two for success.

SUMMER PARTY

(a poem by 10 year old Emma)

As soon as the sun rises,

Much to everyone's surprises,

The fun and laughter begins.

The weather is perfect,

Cheering everyone up,

As the day begins.

Setting up the bouncy castle,

Preparing the food,

Don't worry, it's no hassle.

The first few people start to arrive,

Then the people start to party,

And lighten up the mood.

FOOD

(a poem by 10 year old Emma)

We eat it with knives, forks and spoons,

Sweet or salty,

We have it cold,

And sometimes hot,

When we are sad,

And when we are not.

Through the year so much food is sold,

More than a giant can hold.

In plates and bowls,

Nearly nor one hates,

The tastiest thing they've ever had,

Even if it might make them not so glad.

OH NO!

(a poem by 10 year old Emma)

 

(This is how kids feel when they are in trouble…)

Is it day,

Or is it night?

Is it dark,

Or is it light?

Is it wrong,

Or is it right?

Am I blind,

Or have I sight?

Now my face is full of tears

Locked away,

For many years,

I shout so loud, but no one hears.

THE FOREST

(a poem by 10 year old Emma)

 

Listen to the owl,

And the wolves, O, how they howl.

The hum of magic fills the air,

But everyone’s too busy to even care.

The leaves on the trees are a gentle green,

But wait, there’s more to be seen.

Fairies flying to and fro,

As tiny as my little toe.

The trees,

That sway in the misty breeze,

Wrapped in blankets of moss,

Are really easy to come across,

THE FRIENDSHIP TRAIN

(a poem by 10 year old Emma)

After the rain,

During the night,

A colourful train,

That will unite,

Everyone that is in sight.

This friendship train hoots,

And toots,

It has space for you and me,

And it expands as far as the eye can see,

You can get on it for free.

A DAY IN THE LIFE OF A HEN

(a poem by 10 year old Emma)

Yes, we humans have our ways,

But what do hens do on sunny days?

They might look around for a tasty bite,

And then sleep throughout the entire night.

To tell us what they sometimes do,

Sending notes is what they do,

From him to me, from me to you,

Telling us their daily life,

The fun they have with wildlife.

HOW DO YOU SAY?

(a poem by 10 year old Emma)

How do you say

‘What a beautiful day!’,

‘Hello’ and ‘Hey’?

What do you mean

By the ‘ocean unseen’,

A ‘scrumptious sardine’?

RECIPE FOR HAPPINESS

Today I am going to prepare for you happiness. You know, the happiness, that everybody is dreaming about. That memorable happiness. That shattering deep happiness, after which you are not the same. The happiness we read in the books, we look at in the movies and listen from the stories of other people. That happiness that lasts just over a few minutes. I am going to prepare for you that kind of difficult to achieve happiness, when we are once again a whole with the stars above us, as it was at the beginning.

Have you ever been happy this way?

РЕЦЕПТА ЗА ЩАСТИЕ

Днес ще ти приготвя щастие. Нали знаеш, от онова, за което всички мечтаят. От запомнящото се щастие. От разтърсващото дълбоко щастие, след което не си същият. От онова, за което четем в книгите, гледаме във филмите и слушаме в разказите на другите хора. Онова щастие, което трае малко повече от няколко минути. От трудно постижимото щастие, когато сме отново едно цяло със звездите над нас, както е било в началото.

Бил ли си някога щастлив по този начин?

Днес ще ти приготвя щастие. Щастие е да се слееш с вибрациите на космоса, когато всичко в теб трепти хармонично като музиката на вълшебна флейта. Само трябва да намеря подходящите продукти за такова щастие. Космосът живее в нас, но защо е толкова трудно да достигнем неговата необятност и мощ? Това ми трябва, мощ и необятност, за да не се губя в ежедневните дребни камъчета.

Обещавам да съм щастлива за цял един ден. Обещавам да съм лекомислена. Ще оставя тъгата си. Ще забравя за болката си. Защото тези съставки могат да променят рецептата за щастие. А аз искам да ти покажа, че в мен има част, която е способна да изключи меланхолията и вечното желание да търси смисъл. Понеже нямам голям опит с продължителното и трайно щастие, ще трябва дълго да се ровя в стари и прашни кулинарни книги, в които има рецепти за всякакви състояния. Вярвам, че твоята рецепта ще е различна от моята, но предполагам разликата ще е по-скоро в количеството на съставките.

И аз започвам да готвя моето щастие.

Слагам по малко от безразсъдството и забравата, за да не позволя на мозъка ми да анализира всичко и да провали рецептата.

Слагам по малко от смелостта. Тя е толкова нужна и дефицитна. Защото е нужно да си смел, за да оцелееш след цял ден зашеметяващо щастие. Без да изпитвам ни най-малка вина, че някой през това време е гладен за щастие. Смелост е да направиш първата крачка. Смелост е и да си тръгнеш пръв.

I AM LIKE A MUSEUM

I am like a museum in which everything is kept. I am a living museum under the open sky. It is quite unique. I still pulse with hot passions that remind me of past losses and future victories. In me, life has already gone half way, but I am still far from the end. Far from the end of immortality.

I am like a museum in whose basement the spirit of Adam and Eve is filling the space. The spirit of sin and disobedience. The spirit of forgiveness, which is neither wanted, nor given. The department of Adam and Eve is full of temptation and drama. I am an example of God's anger and love. I am Eve, an ancient measure of weakness and strength. I am a rebellion against prohibitions and rules.

I am like a museum where there is an archeological hall of physical growth and small victories over the body. In this part of the museum is my body in several sizes. Innocent size when I still believed that words meant what they were saying. Then I still believed that freedom is our primary right and duty, and that nothing can make us feel fear because we are born fearless winners, not slaves. This is not a fault of the child's body, but of the world outside the museum, which is a projection of our fears.
Then there comes a body that has grown up enough to get to know love. A body that progresses ahead of the development of the heart. When the body makes love, the heart remains cold. Because the heart is developing at different speeds and in other dimensions. It does not need to touch the body to know that loves it. My body keeps memories of wounds that are living warnings of betrayal and forgiveness. Every part of my body remembers and knows things.

АЗ СЪМ КАТО МУЗЕЙ

Аз съм като музей, в който се пази всичко. Аз съм жив музей под открито небе. Единствен по рода си. В мен все още пулсират горещи страсти, напомнящи за минали загуби и бъдещи победи. В мен животът е изминал вече половината си път, но аз съм все още далеч от края. Далеч от края на неосъществимото безсмъртие.

Аз съм като музей, в чието подземие духът на Адам и Ева изпълват пространството. Духът на грях и непослушание. Духът на непоискана прошка и неполучено опрощение. В отдела на Адам и Ева е пълно със съблазън и драма. Аз съм пример за божия гняв и любов. Аз съм Ева, древна мярка за слабост и сила. Аз съм бунт срещу забраните и правилата.

Аз съм като музей, в който има и археологическа зала на физическото израстване и малките победи над тялото. В тази част на музея се намира тялото ми в няколко размера. Размер невинен, когато все още вярвах, че думите означават това, което казват. Тогава все още вярвах, че свободата е наше изначално право и задължение и че нищо не може да ни накара да изпитваме страх, защото ние сме родени безстрашни победители, а не роби. Но за това не е виновно детското тяло, а светът извън музея, който е проекция на нашите страхове.

След това идва ред на тяло, което е достатъчно пораснало да опознае любовта. Тяло, което по развитието си изпреварва развитието на сърцето. Когато тялото прави любов, сърцето остава студено. Защото сърцето се развива с друга скорост и по други измерения. На него не му е нужно да докосва тялото, за да знае, че обича. Тялото ми пази спомени от рани, които са живи предупреждения за предателство и подлост. Всяка част на тялото ми помни и знае неща.

THE SEA

(a poem by 10 year old Emma)

The place where all known life began,

Yet we hardly know more than,

The beaches and coastline and shore,

There is so much to explore.

Millions of colours, sounds, smells,

Housing whales, fish, coral and shells,

Turquoise, emerald, sapphire dancing in the waves,

The reckless waves, they never behave.

However, they're a place to be free,

To explore as far as the eye can see,

To get lost in the perilous depths,

To reach unknown lengths.

VIENNA

(a poem by 10 year old Emma)

It's such a big city,

And my, it's so pretty!

The flowers and roses,

A city of music and culture.

After a colossal breakfast,

When we're at our freshest,

We jump on a tram,

To get lost in the crowded city.

It's the city of elegance, beauty and art,

From swirly balconies and buildings,

To delicate cafe tables and chairs,

And spacious parks galore.

MY ADVENTURE

(a poem by 10 year old Emma)

I've passed a fountain

Been in a slate mine,

Even climbed a mountain.

It was very high,

I gasped, but I didn't cry,

We were so close to the sky.

I was amazed at the beauty of the rolling hills,

Sad that the tiny ant-like people below,

Could not see the nature, so still.

On the next day we went to the beach,

We went rock climbing,

We went so high it was almost out of reach.

My heart was in my mouth,

As I scrambled around for footholds,

Listening to the soothing sound of the sea.

WHEN THE SUNFLOWERS RAISE THEIR HEADS

The endless yellow fields of blooming sunflowers are like an invitation for flight and inspiration. They are like a reflection of the sun as a materialised infinite faith and optimism. Yellow speaks so loudly that I obey without hesitation. The sunflowers have bent their heads down, but not as a sign of obedience.

When the sunflowers bend their heads, it is because they can not bear the weight of the sun they carry. It is because nobody alive can meet the look of sunflower emitting the sun. No mortal can stand to look directly into the eyes of the small yellow sun. When the sunflowers bend their heads, it is not because they are conquered and defeated, but because they are full of love and mercy towards the neighbor. A mercy not to burn it, but to protect it, and to remain alive.

I am a biological state, open to the new, different, to the change, open to love in all its manifestations. But I am free of all this. I am ready to start from the beginning, ready to reflect the sun-yellow fields that will distract the darkness in me.

You tell me that I am already developed and that there is no hope for me. You're trying to tell me I'm developed wrongly so I can only fit into your world where you're the master. You tell me that everything in me is already over and it is not possible to be developed in a direction that leads to my liberation. You do not see for me a direction of development that leads to my freedom. And you call this love.

You want to instill me this in order to depend on you in everything. To depend on you my pain, my suffering, my joy and my hopes. You want me to think I'm broken and only you can teach me how to be whole and independent again. Because that's what I want - to be whole and independent. To be like a blank sheet on which I can write my life again. To be like a sunflower with a head upright.

That's why I told Him.
Allow me, God, to go back and write my story again. Help me, God, to write myself, my life and my dreams again. Without the mistakes. Without the tears. Without the pain. Help me to become like a newborn blank sheet, where the mistakes and the corrections are missing. Life without errors, corrections and forgiveness, is it possible? God, let's make a deal. May my present life be a draft for the next one. Do you accept the deal, God?

Give me a new name, God, to begin with.
He told me he had given me already a name. And that my name is what I did from it. It is up to me to cover it with honor or with shame, with meanness or pride.