He Rose

Written by: Bozhidar Pangelov

In spring slightly occurs
the white blast.
And the night bells shake
the silence. 
Unquenchable is this waft 
of the candles in the hands sincere,
the lips are touching up the sermon:
“He rose!”
The Light is making the leap –
easy and warm.
The Light – the breathing
of the skin of Life.
The Light – forgotten rhythm
ready to stop.

The Light –
“He rose!”