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March 4, 2009 by · No comments

Bozhana Apostolova

Photo: dawnzy58

Everything starts from there – from the dipped soggy brush:
swaying wheaten in the plowed up ocher wind gust,

a blue song above them and a wing gone mad
with the wild mixture of wind and white…

Everything starts from there… I wonder where does it go?
Where are you rushing to, fluffy-maned colt?

Where are these Bulgarian houses running to,
in this Bulgarian evening – at this hour of home-coming…

Worshipper and god… With a brush in the pale fingers, enclosed
exactly the way Mom makes the sign of the cross.

Translated from Bulgarian by Valentin Krustev and Donna Martell

Categories: Frontpage · poetry



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