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Angel Hadjipopgeorgiev Poem
What am I for the world so wonderful:
the word mute in an unreleased verse,
the tormented pause in song,
fourth picture of triptych ...
In the theater of life /without sufleurs/
I'm not even an inclined tree,
I am not even a bush, and a sheet deflated,
in the order of numbers-the smallest number,
one of the ants working without memory
obedient little bee in his hive,
in a small hole returning to a covenant,
still alive, but until when, O God ...
translation from Bulgarian: the author
Copyright © Angel Hadjipopgeorgiev | Year Posted 2017
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Angel Hadjipopgeorgiev Poem
After years or centuries
- in some next life
we must be in love.
We'll be lying on the beach snuggled
and I will kiss you,
and not only this,
and not only once,
but after years or centuries.
After years or centuries
- in some next life
we must be in love.
With the big toe
in the wet sand I will write
the most awesome a white verse for you.
And the sea will wipe it away
to make room for another.
And I will write again,
and not only this,
and not only once,
but in some next live...
translation from Bulgarian: the author
Copyright © Angel Hadjipopgeorgiev | Year Posted 2017
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Angel Hadjipopgeorgiev Poem
The untruths like a spiderweave entangle me,
they crucify me - a robber near to Jesus.
stands in the air question not asked
and as if I'm a beggar...
I'm begging emotions of the day,
but I do not the gray pink,
on the cross every morning I stand up -
simple, without a theatrical posture.
And I'm nailing my feet myself,
I suffer my victory with pain,
that I stand alone among the curves concepts -
crucified, but I never worship...
translation from Bulgarian: the author
Copyright © Angel Hadjipopgeorgiev | Year Posted 2017
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Angel Hadjipopgeorgiev Poem
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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Angel Hadjipopgeorgiev Poem
Winter Morning - Dark, Dull ...
After a bohemian night ...
Dark, stupid - with reluctance to house ...
Odor of lime -
hallucination, alcohol delirium?!
Well yes - the first floor brews tea.
translation from Bulgarian: the author
Copyright © Angel Hadjipopgeorgiev | Year Posted 2017
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Angel Hadjipopgeorgiev Poem
On the day of equinox
you go on the necropolises
of the Past,
among phallic totems,
but the brain does not accept
abstract logic
of Hermes
and the conservative postulates,
intruding on you and those
from the necropolis ...
*****Sapiens is imperfect
and unfinished,
but your Ego-Consciousness
swears Zigmond recognizing it
his 100-year right.
Messiahism is a priority
and an award for millions
reincarnations
to ninety-ninth knee
and that you are not good
Christian sounds interesting
in the mouth of the arrogant's unbelieving.
You pass them contemptuous
slow to stop
in the last sense,
which the sipping of the blade
will turn into Nirvana ...
translation from Bulgarian: the author
Copyright © Angel Hadjipopgeorgiev | Year Posted 2017
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Angel Hadjipopgeorgiev Poem
With sleepless eyes fix the Dawn,
with cracked lips Dew Drink!
Hear how he plays the time's wind,
see evil in you...and kill him!
translate from bulgarian: the author
Copyright © Angel Hadjipopgeorgiev | Year Posted 2017
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Angel Hadjipopgeorgiev Poem
I understand that I will not live with you
between the walls of a family home,
although to you my think
and my verses are like a moan.
I know that I will not live with you,
but allow me, when he came in the evening,
with the cane slowly to get in
and next to your bed to die!
translation from Bulgarian: the author
Copyright © Angel Hadjipopgeorgiev | Year Posted 2017
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Angel Hadjipopgeorgiev Poem
Reflexes boiled inside
more from Cumbria
they transform us every day
in ramapithecuses ...
even something on top ...
And the word Evolution
falls under the jurisdiction
of the Jungle,
who is not interested
from computers and Software.
Everyone buys indulgences
with money, bed
or the immortality of one's soul.
Why is his Soul,
when the body lives
without delights, Ferrari and Miami Beach ...
Another thing is when
she's only with lipstick,
Johnnie is very Walker,
and the beer is Amstel....
Oh, santa simplicitas!
Copyright © Angel Hadjipopgeorgiev | Year Posted 2020
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Details |
Angel Hadjipopgeorgiev Poem
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....
Copyright © Angel Hadjipopgeorgiev | Year Posted 2020
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