Golden Angels

/, Blesok no. 91/Golden Angels

Golden Angels

The Ships of Possible Love…
It’s So Easy to Love a Stranger…
The Lies Soak Up…
Golden Angels…
She Is So Reticent…
Cuckoo Clock
It Is True…

She is so reticent,
She is like a house,
From which a melody floats,
But no one knows
how many people live in
And the neighbours are never invited.
She is so reticent,
That her cocks don’t crow
But hum;
Her cats run away
to shriek at liberty
In another’s yards.
One white hand
Waters flowers by the window
But nobody’s seen nearly
The ring which gleams.
Isn’t it a drop of water
In geranium’s mossy cupped hands?
She is so reticent,
That the time ever comes in her garden
With a season late.
In her breathe
Quiet nooks, sparrows,
Yellow quinces, splashed by the rain,
And words,
That she will never say.
Thus you will have her –
Yours and hers,
Untrue and chaste.

Translated from Bulgarian by Ludmil Lockanov

AuthorMarija Doneva
2018-08-21T17:22:43+00:00 September 21st, 2013|Categories: Poetry, Blesok no. 91|0 Comments