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Dimitar Kovachev Poem
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!”
Copyright © Dimitar Kovachev | Year Posted 2006
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Details |
Dimitar Kovachev Poem
Sun, my ever coming, now my ever going friend!
Mourn not, angelic mate, though this is the end
For as I watch how parts of you are slowly gone-
Still, others greet you on your shining throne.
But dear Sun? Why yet you grieve?
I never wanted more to leave!
Feel not forlorn- I'm just forsaking life-
This child of Death, this much false strife.
The game of Life's designed to betray
All hopes, all dreams...I cannot stay,
For every night when in bed I lay
In grave to wake up I cease not to pray.
He'll never slake his thirst for pain.
I'll leave him first- by my own hand slain.
Oh, thank you, Sun! Thy smile to me so sweet.
I'm glad you see how fake is my defeat.
In vain away I shall not fade-
To be a different shadow in a world of shade,
I'll let him in- the Devil I presume,
And all his evil seal in fragile tomb;
And soil shall smother, worms happily consume,
Till wounds of Earth do heal in barren womb.
A place of birth, though scarred by silent stone,
Shall be my grave when sins imposed I do atone.
But as for now, I bid farewell.
I long to spend some time in hell!
We'll meet again, but not just yet-
I ought to join the rotting dead.
Copyright © Dimitar Kovachev | Year Posted 2006
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