Public Republic

Stoyanka Grudova Translated by Katerina Stoykova-Klemer Photo: dailyinvention last night i heard the snow as it was saying … i tried to answer it but it interrupted

Stoyanka Grudova Translated by Katerina Stoykova-Klemer Photo: Fillmore Photography we throw stones we throw with bare hands we’ll be gathering them biting coals tomorrow when the weather starts blowing we will pray for a single tear

Stoyanka Grudova Translated by Katerina Stoykova-Klemer Photo: SteveD. i see worm i see hook i see rod i see…

Stoyanka Grudova Translated by Katerina Stoykova-Klemer Photo: erix! the traveling point of view of water even the idea of it is enough

Maria Lipiskova Translation by Ludmila Yordanova Photo: woodleywonderworks To bring bombs to certain places. Slowly. Descending into deep crevices. Slowly. Filling them up with your hands. And exitting. Slowly. Placing words. At certain places. While shielding yours eyes. And walking away. Slowly. To hear the explosions?

Stanislava Stanoeva Photo: karavelov I stand and watch the stars sending away their distant past I live amongst physical laws which no one has seen yet I read fortunes on cut down boles when and how will be born the Messiah trees spring up so innocent and then become crosses for the brave the day’s […]

Stanislava Stanoeva Photo: jonrawlinson Black crows come flying and form up by age. Outside, the thin road is silent and pale. The noise is inside us and it is so usual that if snowflakes flit, they’re only delusional. Translation from Bulgarian: Svetlana Komogorova – Komata

Bozhana Apostolova Photo: Wolfgang Staudt The mist coughed up the soul of winter. It dawned, and the day set out wrapped in a scarf of white tears. Someone wept inside me, while in my ear a little bug droned. So, life, are you speeding again with puffy and drowsy eyes? Where are you rushing to? […]

Aksinia Mihailova Photo: dawnzy58 On Friday evening, on my way home where someone is waiting for me my wings grow out and I become a swallow. Perhaps birds have their hidden compass: they know exactly when to return, where their nests are.

Aksinia Mihailova Photo: jenny downing He left his dreams in the neon city inhabited by gilded statues with sick light in the eyes. He closed his suitcase, locked the door and went. At the bottom of it he has thoroughly folded the melody he bought from a street musician on the pier;

Stanislava Stanoeva Photo: lepiaf.geo birds flew away before dawn the sky remained airless the black stork got stranded on the horizon – a dark ship of happiness I was watching the sky crumbled like bread crumb by crumb the first drops fell tomorrow is the first day of snow as white as all storks Translation […]

Stanislava Stanoeva Photo: jtravism to feed silence to the water so to tread it softly how many steps measure the words on the endless road to someone to walk, not breathing, the steep slope not wishing to reach the others and water calls you by name to sate the drowned one inside Translation from Bulgarian: […]

Stanislava Stanoeva Photo: leipaf.geo time dispelled like lightning Heels hurt from walking I asked someone for the second shirt And I felt cold in the scalding hot noontide I was barefoot and I learnt To turn objects into primal matter In the lands of the sinful one, bread sprouted And I’m still learning to walk […]