ЗЕЛЕНИ СВЕТЛИНИ

 

Разменяме си зелени светлини -

снимка, усмивка, поглед от разстояние.

Колкото да остане жива надеждата.

Не и толкова, че да стане истина.

 

Може би далечното винаги привлича.

То няма недостатъци, не разочарова,

не познава делниците.

Отдалеч човекът прилича повече на мечта,

отколкото на човек.

 

И ние живеем между няколко думи,

няколко снимки и много въображение.

Пленени сме от идеята един за друг,

от онова красиво „може би“

между реалността и мечтата.

 

Може би това е съвременният човек -

самодостатъчен като остров,

копнеещ за близост,

но пазещ разстояние.

 

МАМА

 

Ти ми запали пламъка,

За да горя силно отвътре,

Без да изгарям другите,

А да им грея със своята светлина.

Да огрявам света

С думи, с жестове, с нежност,

Както ти мен.

Твоята светлина ме зарежда,

Дори когато животът е безкрайна

Черна гора

И аз без посока се лутам в нея.

Винаги намирам път,

Щом ме води твоята обич.

 

(Емма Димитрова)

THE SONG WE SANG

 

Do you remember the song we sang,

Many moons ago?

It was a sweet song, a young song, a song

Gifted by the galaxies and stars

And suns.

A song we both knew, a song we kept with us,

A song that was carved into the universe,

And our hearts.

It was a sweet melody

That waited for me at every turn,

It nestled itself in my dreams,

Its lyrics would imprint images into my eyes

When I shut them.

I could not imagine a song more true.

Well, I think I’ve forgotten it.

I think I’ve forgotten its melody, the way

The words move, the places it slowed,

The places you used to laugh when you sang them.

Which part was mine, and which part was yours.

I’ve lost it all.

No matter how hard I search, how desperately

I claw at my memories for a secret to how it sounded -

I’m met with silence.

Faint glimmers, vague whispers, at best,

But the glitter I remember being so blinding

Has disappeared.

КОЛЕДНО ЧУДО

Беше Бъдни вечер. Мама готвеше в кухнята, опитвайки се да спаси няколко загорели печени картофа. В същото това време татко паркираше колата в гаража. Бяхме ходили заедно с него да купим коледната елха.

Коледното дърво стоеше вече във всекидневната и се поклащаше леко при всеки наш допир да го украсим с блестящи гирлянди и играчки, а от вълнението му клоните докосваха подаръците, които вече бяхме оставили под него. Купчината с подаръци тази година беше по-малка от обикновено. Тъжната причина беше, че баба я нямаше вече между нас и нямаше кой да ни обсипва с подаръци. 

 

Старата подаръчна торба, в която бяха играчките за елхата, постепенно се изпразни. Посегнах за последната украса и пръстите ми напипаха нещо, което ме накара да се усмихна. Това беше малко хартиено ангелче, смачкано от дългото чакане на дъното на чантата. Едно изречение, надраскано с черен маркер на гърба на ангелчето, спря дъха ми. Там стоеше посвещението: “На баба”.

 

Преди влагата в очите ми да успее да се превърне в истински сълзи, бързо го закачих на дървото. Украсяването на коледната елха приключи за тази година. Да, къщата беше готова за Коледа, пълна с украса и миризма на домашно приготвени ястия, но нищо не можеше да запълни празнината, която баба остави, когато почина. Фотьойлът й стоеше тихо до огнището, болезнено празен. Преди баба топлеше фотьойла, а аз седях сгушена в скута й. Нотите от нейната цигулка танцуваха във въздуха, изпълвайки стаята и конкурирайки успешно коледните песни по телевизията.

CHRISTMAS MIRACLE

 

It was Christmas Eve. Mum was toiling away in the kitchen, trying to save some slightly burnt roast potatoes, while dad was parking the car in the garage from our trip buying the Christmas tree earlier.

It now stood in the living room, wobbling as I strangled its soft branches in a shiny garland, needles pitter-pattering on the presents placed carefully underneath. The pile was smaller than it usually was, as granny always used to go overboard with gift-giving. Not any more though.

The old gift bag filled with baubles and other handmade decorations by my feet slowly grew emptier. I picked up the last object from it - it seemed to be something I had made in nursery, I recalled with a small smile. A small paper angel, battered from sitting at the bottom of the bag for so long. Turning it over in my hands, my breath caught in my throat. Scrawled on the back in black marker were the words: 'To granny'. 

 

Before the pools in my eyes could turn into proper tears, I quickly hung it up. Decorating was finished for this year.Yes, the house was ready for Christmas, bursting with decor and the smell of home cooked meals, but nothing could fill the gap granny had left when she died. Her armchair sat quietly by the hearth, painfully empty. Before, granny would have warmed that chair, beckoned me to sit on her lap. The notes from her violin would have danced across the air, filling the room, putting the Christmas carols on the television to shame. 

В СЪНИЩАТА

 

Понякога,

Когато е тихо,

Когато земята спи,

Трептят малки мечти,

Нежни песни,

Леки ангелски перца.

Ако се вслушаш,

Може да чуеш шепота на ангелите,

Докато перата им като балерини

Танцуват ефирно през кристалната нощ.

Те ни посещават в сънищата ни,

Говорят ни мили, красиви думи.

Обещават ни,

Че има край на студената зима,

Че има и в нас ангелски сърца.

Показват ни слънцето зад сивия облак

И ни дават силата

Ние самите да полетим.

Да го видим.

ТАМ ПОД РОЗАТА СЕ ЧУВА ТАЙНА УСМИВКА

 

***

Там под розата се чува тайна усмивка,

От там вятърът носи тих смях.

Розата крие пламтящите сърца,

Външният свят затихва. 

Там тайните живеят безгрижно.

ОПИТВАМЕ СЕ ДА ИЗПРЕВАРИМ ОКЕАНА НА ВРЕМЕТО

 

***

Опитваме се да изпреварим океана на времето,

Обръщаме се срещу неговия прилив,

Къде изчезна детският смях?

Животът е за живеене, не за тревога.

Довери се,

Че нашият кораб ще намери спокойно

Брега на бъдещето.

 

UNDER THE SMILE

 Our smiles take the blows

The merciless world throws at us.

It’s the shield that never drops,

That never betrays us,

That keeps us standing.

We stay safe,

But trembling at even the possibility of an attack.

So scared to let anything near us,

That we push away our friends

Along with our foes.

Are we living, or just alive?

Our defense keeps away the monsters,

But it frightens away the good times, too.

We rely on our smiles

To protect us from our demons,

But sometimes their growls

Still filter through,

And reach our delicate ears.

SUB ROSA 🥀

Under the rose,

Moon Rose art print by Julian Russell

The faint moonlight leaks,

Under the rose,

A hazy dream speaks,

Under the rose,

An enchantment echoes,

Under the rose,

Fall Cupid’s arrows.

Under the rose,

The moonlight beckons,

Under the rose,

The girl arrives in seconds,

Under the rose,

A wild thing grows,

THE WRONG CHOICE

Millions of voices screaming,

More tears than stars in the sky,

Precious souls burnt up like

A sick man’s time.

All because of a choice.

Who caused this pain?

Not a vote,

Not a choice agreed by the public -

But one lone ruler’s choice,

Who woke up and chose violence,

Thinking everybody would

Bow to him in respect.

Why?

Nobody else had a say,

Now his people have no choice,

Their words are disregarded,

And they bow their heads in shame,

Ashamed of their country,

That is otherwise so great,

But now makes others hurt,

THE JOURNEY OF LIFE

 

My life is a painting,

A journey,

A boat trip down a winding river,

Fringed with looming houses,

With shadowy curtains

Hiding the interior.

Houses splashed with angry reds

And happy yellows

And sad, sad blues.

Homes

Of friends and enemies and teachers,

The strangers of the world who are most familiar

To my weakened memory.

I am but another passenger for this gondola to take away

On these murky waters -

The rows that lead this vessel

Deceive me into thinking that I control them,

Even though I already know

That the invisible hands of fate direct my path.

 

RELOAD

Sweet Summer Nostalgia, Namaste Switzerland

 

I remember it was beautiful,

But so overwhelming,

That I couldn't appreciate it properly.

I didn’t take the time to see it through my own eyes.

The moments of happiness

Were so staggering,

And I thought they would last forever,

When in fact, each moment is fleeting,

Precious,

Important.

Like a butterfly

On the breeze.

Now, my mundane life,

Allows me to register,

How amazing that blessing of a butterfly was,

My head was reloaded with energy,

Memories,

Experiences,

Enough to feed on for another year.

The past tugs me into the future,

My mind clinging

To any trace of my memories around me.

The smell of the scorched grass,

Pulls me back,

The almost-empty streets,

The soft summer breeze,

Puff echoes of the past into my head.

The cool shadows of the overgrown trees,

The rustle of the almost-ready

Corn in the fields,

The scent of the air as the rain drops dry up.

HEARTSTRINGS

 Love is a string that binds souls together,

A string woven from trust,

Curiosity,

Affection,

Strength,

Care,

Emotion.

So when that fragile thread

Trembles, and  threatens to snap,

Love cries out in despair,

Trying to tug the thread back,

To safety,

Back where it belongs,

Back where it is strong

And secure.

With love,

All doubters run,

The sun shines brighter,

The winter nights are warmer

With love,

The pain is more lasting,

With vulnerable tears falling,

At the slightest damage

Done your heartstrings.

THROUGH THE WINDOW

 

On the vast meadow 

Of gentle blue,

The sun takes her children

Out to play.

The sweet little clouds

Leap and frolic

In their mother’s golden shadow.

But soon, their jumps get slower,

And their eyes start to droop,

So mother Sun takes them home,

Emptying the sapphire sky.

But not for long.

Another family appears-

The mother duck and her ducklings-

The moon and her stars.

Their shadows dyeing the sky

A dark, mysterious blue

Like a deep, calm ocean.

The moon’s pretty stars

Twinkle and shine,

Joyfully holding hands in different patterns and groups.

MY QUIET EYES

 

V. Aurelian,'Green eyes and quiet morning'

My Quiet Eyes watch everything.

They trace the steps of every creature,

Every proud and shameful moment.

My Quiet Eyes are your salvation and destruction.

My Quiet Eyes witness

The birth of planets, constellations, ideas,

The death of stars,

The fall of kings,

My Quiet Eyes see everything,

The birth of babies,

The maiden voyages of ships.

The last day of school before the holidays.

But My Quiet Eyes are overwhelming,

They keep me trapped, alone, silent.

My Quiet Curse keeps me deaf, paralised, mute.

The babies open their mouths, but no sound leaves their mouths.

The ships set sail without me.

LAUGHTER WATERFALL

 

By AatmicaOjha

At the right moment,

With the right spell,

The dam will break,

And from deep within a sound will wake,

Bubbling up,

Full of joy,

A special sound,

A special feeling.

Brims over,

It overflows,

Spills out the inner joy,

Through laughter,

Smiles,

Fizzing happiness,

And sparkling personality,

Down, and out,

In a laughter waterfall,

Spreading, traveling,

Sweeping other people up,

ЖИВ Е ЛЕВСКИ

 

Черните рокли на жените

Треперят от виещия вятър.

Треперят като раменете на хората,

Които са слушали как Апостола

Им разказва за свободния полет на птиците.

Грачат гарвани,

И перата им покриват земята като черно одеяло.

Левски, Апостола,

Е мъртъв,

И цяла България плаче.

 

Хора, спрете се.

Левски е мъртъв?

Как така мъртъв?

Та нали мечтата му все още свети

по-ярко от най-блестящата звезда на небето?

Мечтата му да ни види свободни.

А това ни прави отговорни пред него

и пред нашите деца.

HEROES

 

All throughout history,

Through wars,

By DLynneS

And pandemics,

And disasters,

There have always been generals,

Kings, presidents, prime ministers,

Looking after the bigger picture

Winning the battle,

Fighting diseases,

Often forgetting who they’re fighting for.

Fighting for victory, glory,

Not for the helpless citizens.

And as planes shoot across the sky,

And sickness lingers in the air,

The people of the earth

Hold hands in despair.

THAT THING

 What is that thing that follows you?

From morning to night,

From dusk to light?

That Thing,

Like a foreboding shadow,

A shadow that brings terror and fright,

Threatening to engulf the sunlight,

That Thing,

Like the cloak of darkness,

That comes with the frosty night,

Hiding everything nice from sight.

That Thing,

Like the screen of gold,

That hides the darkness and pity

Of the dying leaves in autumn,

That Thing.