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Best Poems Written by Plamen Sivov

Below are the all-time best Plamen Sivov poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

Details | Plamen Sivov Poem

Watercolor

Falling asleep, you will see me –
faithful and yours for the claiming.
I won’t be asking, while caressing your sleep,
if we had been ever related.

Falling asleep, I will see you –
reaching concepts of piety, slowly sipping their taste:
and whatever we love, whatever we’re grieving
is becoming the same thing from which we are made.

The wind, scattering, rearranges the landscapes,
spilling into the spaces – no memory, no goal.
Wildly lifts us away, disobeying, abandoning –
watercolored, our faces merge in one vicious whole.

We can hardly inhale above waters pallid,
brooks are gasping for breath, underground, darkly fated.
Ageing elations and tearless eyelids –
we are born every morning defenseless and naked.

I am blessing the snow, silently shed,
as my footsteps back home are tracing their pattern
to questions that stretch to the morning ahead
and to love, getting worn out and tattered.

Wander in dreams through the valley of books,
Wuthering Heights, and the England of memories…
Twenty years old and in love, as you looked –
who do you think will always remember you?

Try to never look back to seasons and beckonings,
give your song to the world and release it.
Trust a passage that leads to the sea flowing endless,
and then walk on the shore. It is easy.

Translated from the Bulgarian by Diana Stefanova

Details | Plamen Sivov Poem

Winter Rain

Oh, how this winter rain would glide along,
descending down the landscape’s bristly curves…
It’s waiting just for our “Come on!”,
but simply, no one’s there to say the words.

Beneath, through the November mist at last,
the color-yielding trees are quiet now,
renouncing their leaves and summer past
and pounding on the sky with bare boughs.

And thus renounced, we gather bitter taste
to ourselves, to our old addresses.
And so it falls again, but not that rain –
begotten, not created, of one essence.

Translated from the Bulgarian by Diana Stefanova

Details | Plamen Sivov Poem

The Boy With the Exhausted Wings

The boy with the exhausted wings remains,
the mirror doesn’t show a friend reflected.
Betrayal is predictably effective.
And guilt is carrying all too many names.

The boy with the exhausted wings remains –
and do you know him, son of angels fair?
What happened to the common past you shared –
did you forget, or fail to understand

the healing flowers, walls of tender stone,
the lips, their bruises from the silence peeling?
The bird out of the cage he will be freeing,
but will he resurrect himself, alone?

The bird will fly above the fallen town ahead,
above the dreams of people bleeding slowly
and, knowing that she’s wingless, she’ll be falling
into a soul – as simple as our bread.

The boy with the exhausted wings remains.
His memory to no one he will bare.
The legs of hope are short – and everywhere
she walks upon familiar terrain;

the flame is burning in her fragile hand,
the remnants of the new beginning pour horizons.
And out of every mirror he is rising –
the boy with the exhausted wings, again.

Translated from the Bulgarian by Diana Stefanova