This Love

Written by: Bozhidar Pangelov

This love
 wants nothing.
 It just happens
 like a ray of the tree-tops
 or of a temporal bone a palm.
 This love
 is not a centenary tree keeping
 secrets – 
 open and clear is shining
 the grass on the hill.
 It stays quiet under the stormy wind
 it bears under the fire of the sun,
 in hollows of the nights long
 tells fairytales.
 The world changes. – It does not faint.
 It grows up higher than it
 and shorter than the stone.
 In the church a thunder falls,
 but She is praying…
 She is Her temple
 and the temple is Her.

 And Everything!