Melancholy
As deserted as this wasteland,
Endless, boundless, uninviting,
Where all grass and flowers have withered,
As a notebook with no writing...
As deserted as this wasteland,
Where the lonely wind is crying,
As if it, on empty pages,
Writes the letters with its sighing....
Translated from bulgarian by Liz Wales
Copyright © Angel Hadjipopgeorgiev | Year Posted 2017
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