Watercolor
Falling asleep, you will see me –
faithful and yours for the claiming.
I won’t be asking, while caressing your sleep,
if we had been ever related.
Falling asleep, I will see you –
reaching concepts of piety, slowly sipping their taste:
and whatever we love, whatever we’re grieving
is becoming the same thing from which we are made.
The wind, scattering, rearranges the landscapes,
spilling into the spaces – no memory, no goal.
Wildly lifts us away, disobeying, abandoning –
watercolored, our faces merge in one vicious whole.
We can hardly inhale above waters pallid,
brooks are gasping for breath, underground, darkly fated.
Ageing elations and tearless eyelids –
we are born every morning defenseless and naked.
I am blessing the snow, silently shed,
as my footsteps back home are tracing their pattern
to questions that stretch to the morning ahead
and to love, getting worn out and tattered.
Wander in dreams through the valley of books,
Wuthering Heights, and the England of memories…
Twenty years old and in love, as you looked –
who do you think will always remember you?
Try to never look back to seasons and beckonings,
give your song to the world and release it.
Trust a passage that leads to the sea flowing endless,
and then walk on the shore. It is easy.
Translated from the Bulgarian by Diana Stefanova
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