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Dimitar Kovachev. Click the Next or Previous links below the poem to navigate between poems. Remember, Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth. Thank you.
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A Walk Beyond
We make our way through the debris
To the second floor of the military shelter…
Slowly and cautiously,
For Death here lies-
But only half-asleep.
The torrid wind wrings the unstuck wallpaper,
Forcing it to sing the hymn
Of the great Amarna Pharaoh.
The scars on the walls
And the lack of metal in the building
Speak of the Alchemists’ fresh visit.
The corner where there used to be
A baby’s bed and many toys
Is now covered with bottles,
That not long ago have been full
Of the spirit of the East.
No tears ran down her face,
For her eyes were now possessed
By the reminiscence of a sacrosanct bygone
And by the horror of what was left from it.
“Let’s go”- said she, and swiftly we went out,
For the sense of shame and guilt would
Always give a man a pair of wings.
We take a walk in silence
Around the empty swimming-pool.
The grass of sulphureous hues
Is strewn with wizen papavers,
And rotten remnants
Of snow-white unicorns.
The master of the mournful river,
Climbs up from the dried up hole
And gives me a look of reverence.
With one coin on each of his eyes,
He shrinks back to retire.
In the nothingness.
At last, in the shadows of the nearby woods,
We find a place to rest and chat about the weather.
The wind does not stir the branches of the trees;
Every movement here murmurs of an unknown
Horror- one gnawing all bygone,
But with no past of its own.
I notice there are some people
In the very vestibule of the city.
“Why, why is Mons so empty,
And it’s gates so blind and lazy?”
I keep staring at them for some time
But our eyes do not meet in the least.
Hurried cars pass frequently by us,
All going in the same direction.
A crowd is swarming on both sides
Of the dusty road, but suddenly the sharp stones
Dip from their grasp to cover the earth,
And senescence wipes out all of them at once.
Wrapped in shagreen, we go to the lonely hill,
Where children used to watch colored movies.
The cinema is devastated, but the frescos in
Unharmed blue and white still show
A beheaded star.
“And we dance, and we dance so softly,
And we keep dancing, under this bridge!”