Vessislava Savova – Unfinished

We pick the flowers with pure hearts. However the elexir of life froze in the winter of our hearts. Then we need to wait for a brighter morning that can be found in the distance of Vessislava Savovas’ haibuns.

Alex Arnaudov

 

(winter)

winter in which the trees bloom; cut (but taken care for) pin branches give a birth of pinecones while snow covers the desert waterfalls freeze and someone still searches for excuses for the Road (of stones)

a brighter morning
this morning there is some snow
on the Vitosha Mountains

 

 

How’s That?
“Be a good girl and pass me the salt, please.”
“But why, granny? Mom calls it “the white death”. White or black, I don’t want you to die.”
“None has died of salt but think a little – how bland your favorite meals would be without it. Here, taste this.”
“Gross! Chicken soup with no salt is like a child with no Granny”

whirlwind
Shubert’s Symphony №8
Unfinished

Editor’s Choice for Under the Basho/2018

 

(drawing)
an artist has drawn a fireplace and a man warming up by it I wonder if I should write something about the city where I live how for instance the air we breathe cannot be seen and the municipality employees wonder how to recycle the “green” tickets

om-m-m
a crow interrupts me
at the third “m”

 

yellow

According to a legend, boys and girls were sent by the Chinese emperor to an unknown land to bring back chrysanthemums to their country – the flower that could be picked only by people with pure hearts because it consisted of the elixir of life. Those children, however, stayed to live on the island that we know as Japan today.

old postcard –
the signature on its back
fades away

Editor’s choice for Under the Basho/2018

 

Pasa

The Indian in the subway shudders. The ocarina he was holding tight even in his dream, starts telling about how El Condor Pasa. I flew away…

rocky shore
somewhere at the distance
a herring gull’s cry

 

I Look

I look directly at the sun hidden but not completely behind the clouds that promise a storm of those spring ones warm fast and in a hurry to leave I look again up and I find a cross with a hole in the middle was it not enough that we crucified Him but we also penetrated His Cross hosanna

suburbs
the priest with a new
motorbike

 

New Asocial Poetry

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