Silent times
from the this mountaintop
Waiting for the singing image of the burning orb
Turned to the pathway of memories.
In a handful of wheat
There's another hand
A trenchant hilt
-like the diving of a hawk into the cloud-
Yeah
This is the way humans are.
Some people
Plant their seeds
in the rivers and the seas
as it doesn't grow,
Getting futilely
fatigued
in this fighting
against the rivers and the seas for years.
Some others, some sullen ones
standing in the rivers and seas
with the seeds in their hands,
They don't plant
The expect of the growth in that
wet trembling fingers turns to an opium.
They have been futilely
fatigued
in a fight against those they see as
spellbound foolish ones for years.
In me but there exists
a clever
depressed taciturn
scientist, knows all that can not
be done as the stone doesn't
know all that can be done.
This way
I know that all the rivers
in the world are fierce and spiteful
They even take away the corpus
of the plants and old trees.
Don't be deceived by their purl.
Giving them wheat ?!!
No
No wheat grains in trembling hands.
A man a knowing one should go
to the alp
Giving the wheat to the cloud.
The cloud
is the calm heavenly water
And it should know about the
melody of the sun
A trenchant sword is ready to harvest.
It comes back home, proud of
knowing with the glory of an
armful wheat
For the children's hand not being
empty of wheat.
The cloud of the grain field is
now a little far away from me
It may be arrived near my home
Surely my wife's arms would
smell as new baked bread when I
come back home.

Written by
Keikavoos Yakideh

please forgive me
for the bad translation
his poems have several meanings
and i translate it in my opinion with the help of my teacher
for example the word 'عصر' means: evening , time.... in our language and i am not sure which one is better here,silent evenings or silent times....
i do not forgive myself...

You asked to have me too?

I’m a lilac, after all… or were I?
You don’t believe, that until recently
I smelled and bloomed

Greedy hands were reaching out to me
They picked and tore, and took my bloom away
My odor… stolen by the wind

My leaves…
A mist desired them, eyes watering
And so I gave
But to a cloud she ran away
And built a nest from them
My branches…
Caressed by frost-bitten beggar
She too asked to have them
I gave again
She put them to the fire

You asked to have me too?

I’m a lilac, after all… or were I?
Have you ever seen the aroma and the bloom of sin?

Your eyes perhaps caught too much light or tears?
Are you disappointed; maybe bored? Don’t go.
It seems there’s nothing left for you but you are wrong

Beneath your feet, buried deep within the soil
My root is dwelling waiting for the spring
The last and best of me
I hid and kept it just because
I’m a lilac, after all… or were I?
If you’d like I’ll show you how I used to bloom

Where are you going

Wait

Don’t you want me anymore

Author: Valeri Dimitrov; translation from Bulgarian: Gabriel burnS;
This translation was done with the special permission of the author.

Original poem:

Люляк

И ти ли ме поиска?

Все пак люляк съм. Или пък... бях?
Не вярвяш, че до скоро и ухаех, и цъфтях...

Към мене алчно се протягаха ръцете.
Беряха, късаха... отнесоха ми цветовете.
Уханието ми? Откраднаха го ветровете.

Листата ми?
Поиска ги една мъгла със капещи очи.
Дадох ги.
А тя при облака избяга. С листата ми гнездо си сви.
Клоните ми?
Премръзналата просякиня ги погали.
И тя ме молеше.
Дадох ги.
А тя със клоните ми огън си запáли.

И ти ли ме поиска?

Все пак люляк съм. Или пък... бях?
Виждала ли си разцъфнал и ухаещ грях?

Май нещо свети във очите ти. Сълзиш?
Разочарована? Или си отегчена? Недей да си вървиш!
За тебе нищо не било останало? - Грешиш!

В краката ти, там долу във пръстта,
Коренът ми упорито чака пролетта.
Последното от мен, но най-доброто.
Скрито. Тайно... Пазих го, защото...
Все пак люляк съм. Или пък... бях?
Искаш ли да ти покажа как цъфтях?...

Къде отиваш?
......................
Чакай!
...............................
Не ме ли искаш вече?...  ,  ,, , ,
,, , ,  , ,,   , ,   ,,
, , ,, , ,,,
, , ,
,

the dress is lying still
on her hips
but not at rest
a tight caress
that stalks in wait
proxy to the prey

black widow web?

Still  naked
small speck  burning
double clicked  attention
wading through the light

free fall fasting
lying half asleep

Vinyl wraps round the beauty
meanders with the breeze
grasping for a sleeping angel
found lost in perfect harmony

Slipping through the window
heading for your seams
breathing  curiosity
hidden in your dreams

free falling fast
lying half asleep

Filling up tomorrow
such a pretty being
flowers in the ocean
such a pretty thing

through
the
mango-colored moon
as bright as you
it
comes across
the things
we do and
i
promise that
this
love is true
this
love for you
as bright as you

Dear lungs,

I'm writing you today
to ask for a favor
Stop the repetitive
constricting and expanding
That one job you've held
for your entire existence
Just quit
Walk away
Deflate and rest
Please

Dear heart,

I'm writing you today
to demand reparations
Payment for the atrocities
you've helped carry me to
Dragging me tooth and nail
through the thickest of thick
Beating only to continue
to watch me suffer
I've come to collect
what is owed  
The even, permanent tone
of a flatlined ring
Nothing more
Nothing less

Sincerely

and with the warmest regards


            -the mind

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