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.

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 са в процес на развитие. Те имат шанс да се развият и да 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 свои сметки, в които обикновено децата и тяхното развитие изобщо не влизат. Учителите двойкаджии виждат децата само като цифри и проценти, заковани веднъж завинаги. Те са слепи за потенциала и за неговото развитие. С цифровите си присъди всъщност убиват потенциала, защото за тях 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 вдъхновение и от 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 overwhelm you, I appear before you and give meaning to your days. Your eyes sparkle with inspiration once again. You believe in yourself again and do not allow the little storms and losses to defeat you. I am your gentle inspiration.

You are a unique phenomenon, and I admire you. That is what my heart says, and my eyes follow you everywhere with faith and blessing. Because you came into my life when it had begun to lose its meaning. I needed something unique, and you were ready for that role. So, to 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 there wherever danger stands in my way, and I cannot stop it from trying to defeat me. When black clouds hang over my head like ripe blackberries in August and the wind carries them where they should not go, you appear, overcoming yourself and your fear for the sake of my faith in you. Your courage comes from me, and it fills you. You can face all the gloomy and frightening monsters of the world because I believe in you. White doves write the story of your courage and victory across the sky, and their feathers cover the human world with innocence and inspiration for triumph.

"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."

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 ѝ 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 the universe is unbearable. The thought that love will sooner or later come to an end and disappear brings us closer to death than anything else. What can we do to stop time from passing so ruthlessly fast? Tell us what to do.

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

I tried to find oblivion in the beauty around me. But, painfully, I discovered that beauty too is mortal. We become accustomed to beauty, and it no longer seems so beautiful. The seasons are born and die. The sun rises and sets. Your smile is no longer mine alone. My heart is too small to bear so many losses—to be born again with every sunrise, with every season, and to hope for your smile, meant only for me. To be close to you.

I tried to find oblivion in physical pleasures. But I exhausted my body with lies and pretence, with the illusion of the moment and the pain of creation. Yet I endured it all. 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 ми какво да направим?

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

Опитах се да търся забрава в красотата наоколо. Но с болка открих, че тя е тленна. Ние свикваме с нея и тя престава да бъде 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, с всеки сезон и с надеждата за твоята усмивка, предназначена само за мен. 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 happiness for you. You know—the kind of happiness everybody dreams about. That unforgettable happiness. That overwhelming, deep happiness after which you are never the same. The happiness we read about in books, watch in films and hear about in other people's stories. The kind of happiness that lasts for only a few minutes. I am going to prepare for you that rare and difficult-to-achieve happiness, when we once again become one with the stars above us, just as we were in the beginning.

Have you ever been happy this way?

Today I am going to prepare happiness for you. It is a joy to blend with the vibrations of the cosmos, when everything within you trembles in harmony like the music of a magical flute. I only have to find the right ingredients for such happiness. The cosmos lives within us, but why is it so difficult to reach its vastness and power? That is what I need—power and greatness, so that I do not lose myself among the little pebbles of everyday life.

I promise to be happy for one whole day. I promise to be carefree. I will leave my sorrow behind. I will forget my pain because these ingredients can change the recipe for happiness. I want to show you that there is a part of me capable of setting aside melancholy and the constant desire to search for meaning. Because I do not have much experience of lasting happiness, I will have to dig for a long time through old, dusty cookbooks that contain recipes for every kind of human condition. I believe your recipe will be different from mine, but I suppose the difference will lie mainly in the amount of each ingredient.

And now I begin to prepare my happiness.

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.

I AM LIKE A MUSEUM

I am like a museum where everything is preserved. I am a living museum under the open sky. It is quite unique. I still pulse with burning passions that remind me of past losses and future victories. Life within me has already reached its halfway point, yet I am still far from the end. Far from the end of immortality.

I am like a museum whose basement is filled with the spirit of Adam and Eve. The spirit of sin and disobedience. The spirit of forgiveness, neither sought nor received. The Adam and Eve department is full of temptation and drama. I am an example of both God's anger and His love. I am Eve—an ancient measure of weakness and strength. I am a rebellion against prohibitions and rules.

I am like a museum with an archaeological hall dedicated to physical growth and the small victories of the body. In this part of the museum, my body exists in several sizes. The innocent size, when I still believed that words meant exactly what they said. Back then, I believed that freedom was our greatest right and responsibility, and that nothing could make us afraid because we were born fearless victors, not slaves. This is not the fault of the child's body, but of the world outside the museum, which is only a projection of our fears.

Then comes the body that has grown enough to discover love. A body that matures faster than the heart. When the body makes love, the heart may still remain cold because the heart develops at a different pace and in different dimensions. It does not need to touch the body to know that it loves. My body carries the memories of wounds that remain living reminders of betrayal and forgiveness. Every part of my body remembers. Every part of my body knows.

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 изпълва 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.

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 to flight and inspiration. They are like a reflection of the sun—a materialised expression of infinite faith and optimism. Yellow speaks so loudly that I obey without hesitation. The sunflowers have bowed their heads, but not as a sign of obedience.

When sunflowers bow their heads, it is because they cannot bear the weight of the sun they carry. It is because no living being can withstand the gaze of a sunflower that radiates the sun itself. No mortal can look directly into the eyes of that little yellow sun. When sunflowers bow their heads, it is not because they have been conquered or defeated, but because they are full of love and mercy for those around them—a mercy that chooses not to burn, but to protect, and to preserve life.

I am a living being, open to the new, the different and to change, open to love in all its forms. Yet I remain free from all of it. I am ready to begin again, ready to reflect the sun-filled yellow fields that will drive the darkness out of me.

You tell me that I am already fully formed and that there is no hope for me. You try to convince me that I have been shaped wrongly so that I can fit only into your world, where you are the master. You tell me that everything within me is already finished and that I can no longer grow in a direction that leads to my freedom. You see no path of development that could lead me to liberation. And you call this love.

You want me to believe this so that I will depend on you for everything—for my pain, my suffering, my joy and my hopes. You want me to think that I am broken and that only you can teach me how to become whole and independent again. But that is exactly what I want—to become whole and independent. To be like a blank sheet of paper on which I can write my life again. To be like a sunflower with its head held high.

I'LL MISS YOU

(a poem by 10 year old Emma)

 

I know it is only a few days,

But this trip could go many ways.

Whether I get there by car or train,

Whether there's sun or rain.

But whatever happens I will miss you,

From the start and all the way through.

THE GINGER CAT

(a poem by 10 year old Emma)

The Ginger Cat,

Goes by many names,

The hunter of the bat,

Kitty and Miss James.

She is more than meets the eye,

She's way more than a soft, fluffy coat,

And she's sneaky and sly,

The kind that'll boast.

The Ginger Cat roams far and wide,

Though she has a perfect home,

She travels far and takes pride,

And prefers to be alone.

КОГАТО СЛЪНЧОГЛЕДИТЕ ИЗПРАВЯТ ГЛАВИ

Безкрайните жълти полета от цъфнали слънчогледи са като покана за полет и за вдъхновение. Те са като отражение на слънцето, като материализирана безгранична вяра и оптимизъм. Жълтото говори толкова силно, че аз се покорявам без колебание. Слънчогледите са навели главите си надолу, но не като знак за послушание и подчинение.

Когато слънчогледите наведат глави, това е защото те не могат да понесат тежестта на слънцето, което носят в себе си. Това е защото никой жив не може да понесе погледа на слънчогледа, излъчващ слънцето. Никой смъртен не може да издържи да гледа директно в очите малкото слънчогледово слънце. Когато слънчогледите наведат глави, това е не защото те са покорени и победени, а защото те са пълни с любов и милост към ближния. Милост да не го изпепелят, а да го предпазят и той да остане жив.

Аз съм биологично състояние, отворено към новото, различното, към промяната, отворено към любовта във всичките ѝ прояви. Но аз съм и свободна от всичко това. Аз съм готова да започна отначало, готова да отразя слънчевите жълти полета, които ще разсеят мрака в мен.

Ти ми казваш, че аз съм вече завършена и че няма надежда за мен. Ти се опитваш да ми внушиш, че съм завършена погрешно, така че да се впиша само в твоя свят, където ти си господарят. Ти ми казваш, че всичко в мен е вече приключило и не е възможно да бъде развито в посока, която да води до моето освобождение. Според теб ти не виждаш за мен посока на развитие, която да води до моята свобода. И ти наричаш това любов.

Ти искаш да ми внушиш това, за да завися от теб във всичко. Да зависят от теб моята болка, моето страдание, моята радост и надеждите ми. Ти искаш да си мисля, че съм пречупена и че само ти можеш да ме научиш как да бъда отново цяла и независима. Защото това е, което аз искам – да бъда цяла и независима. Да бъда като бял лист, на който да мога да напиша своя живот отново. Да бъда като слънчоглед с изправена глава.

SPACE

(a poem by 10 year old Emma)

When you look at the night sky, what do you see?

Stars upon stars,

Suns upon suns,

Galaxies, black holes, the solar systems,

Mercury, Venus,

Earth and Mars,

I can guarantee,

That you already know the rest!

Though it may seem queer,

I think I can trust,

To tell you that we’re made of star dust.

Loads and loads of years ago,

When we had just started to grow,

The star dust started to flow,

Through our blood.

Making us good,

Clever, kind, and happy.

EASTER

(a poem by 10 year old Emma)

E- Everything is growing, without any reasons,

A-After the hard, wet, cold seasons.

S- Spring is in the air,

T- Together say a prayer,

E- Everyone, pray for your friends.

R- Remember to be kind and nice,

MIDNIGHT PARTY

(a poem by 10 year old Emma)

When midnight strikes,

The house is eerily silent.

My tin soldiers begin to stir,

And my stuffed white cat starts to

Purr,

O, the toy dollies,

With trollies and trollies

Of food.

They creep downstairs,

Along with the toy bears,

They choose a table,

And soon they’re hardly able,

To stand from all the food!