In a whisper

Written by: Bozhidar Pangelov

In a whisper I am bringing the leaves
of golden autumn.
The summer, passed away with cry, 
is only the burden
for the burnt out grass
I’m bringing you an only
drop on the fingers – 
an unseen rainbow in all 
the colors of the time.
I hold you peace at touching.
I do not utter you.
I leave you to count me
like a sigh of a child,
without memories for yesterday,
without memories for tomorrow…
(the death is only the visible

And you remain – uncounted.