The dawn is burdened with our hopes. Then it falls and we become martyrs on the black planet. We wait for the glorious arrival and only our feathers are left unharmed in the newest translations of Georgi Slavov.
Alex Arnaudov
*
The dawn itself is
Burdened
With hopes of emerald
And folly
The broken bones tonight
Are hardened
As all that is broken
Is forever holy
Oh, The fallen, I wander.
One by one, I the martyr
Only in the sands of
Lonely, I am wholly
Am I Wholly?
Go wait in the car
Forlorn, forgiven for my sing
Millenia ago
“Chase this torrential torture away”
You know that
I Found Away
Going under
Through the cracks
The sunlight of a God
Trapped in a man
Permeates the broken nails
The rusty steel of progress
Like the Wind I flew back
Into town
Into the same back alley
At the end of my journey
You waited for my glorious arrival
We talked about something
Pompous and irrelevant
Glory is so sticky
Impossible is all but folly
And so I quote unknown
The Writings on the wall
“And I was young and dipped in folly
And so I fell in love with melancholy”
Never let the feather fall unharmed
When the angel of yours
With the sunrise wakes
Never let it rest for long
In work it must engage
And when you see me falling
Just in case
Scratch my back
So that you can know
Of your existence
It was winter
Never colder at this part of town
It was winter
And the last feather on the ground
It clutched
Crystalised with waste
Until death do us
The storm it brought the rain
My pain was torn in between
I’m sorry that I cracked
Under pressure of the tide
One last dance
I understand
Despondency
It is the world that suffers
From my steps
Art for art’s sake
Society trembles
When the manifesto
Rises and takes the word
I am who is I
*
Your arms
above the
storm
Only with a piano and
Acoustics
Through paradise
I float
Living as an angel in the
Living on air
And the nights falls wild
Again
I keep no time for
Scenery and no
Voice for white
Alone and Ivory
At the underground
Your illusion trembles
All is vanity, vanity is all
*
Some kind of stranger
To myself I roam
The streets of the town
I barely know
Some kind of angel
Near myself it falls
And breathes lilacs
That I barely reach
Black planet,
I was wrong to walk away
New Asocial Poetry
