Мбизо Чираша – Между стъпките (Превод: Мирослава Панайотова)

MBIZO CHIRASHA is the Poet in Residence at the Fictional Café (International publishing and literary digital space). 2019 Sotambe Festival Live Literature Hub and Poetry Café Curator. 2019 African Fellow for the International Human Rights Art Festival( ihraf.org), Essays Contributor to Monk Art and Soul Magazine in the United Kingdom.Arts Features Writer at the International Cultural Weekly.Featured Writer Poet Activist at The Poet A Day(https://jamiededes.com/). Core Team Member and African Contributor to Bezine of Arts and Humanities(https://thebezine.com/) in the USA. The Originator of Zimbabwe We Want Poetry Campaign. Curator of MiomboPublishing Blog Journal(https://miombopublishing.wordpress.com/). Founder and Chief Editor of WOMAWORDS LITERARY PRESS. Founder and Curator of the Brave Voices Poetry Journal. Co-Editor of Street Voices Poetry trilingual collection( English, African Languages and Germany) initiated by Andreas Weiland in Germany. Poetry Contributor to AtunisPoetry.com in Belgium. African Contributor to DemerPress International Poetry Book Series in the Netherlands. African Contributor to the World Poetry Almanac Poetry Series in Mongolia. His latest 2019 collection of experimental poetry A LETTER TO THE PRESIDENT was released by Mwanaka Media and Publishing and is both in print, on Amazon.com and at is featured at African Books Collective. 2003 Young Literary Arts Delegate to the Goteborg International Book Fair Sweden (SIDA AFRICAN PAVILION) .2009 Poet in Residence of the International Conference of African Culture and Development (ICACD) in Ghana. 2009 Fellow to the inaugural UNESCO- Africa Photo- Novel Publishers and Writers Training in Tanzania. 2015 Artist in Residence of the Shunguna Mutitima International Film and Arts Festival in Livingstone, Zambia. A globally certified literary arts influencer, Writer in Residence and Recipient of the EU-Horn of Africa Defend Defenders Protection Fund Grant, Recipient of the Pen Deutschland Exiled Writer Grant. He is an Arts for Peace and Human Rights Catalyst, the Literary Arts Projects Curator, Poet, Writer, publicist is published in more 200 spaces in print and online.


Между стъпките
огън на предците,
пламъци близват мечтите,
на коляно, ниско в извисена тишина,
слънчева пъпка, мрачен върху черни почви,
Аз съм хвърчилото,
чиято струна е освободена от корена,
летящ, любопитен, моля се,
Аз стъпвам между стъпалата
като танцьор,
но далече от това,
защото съм пантера,
черна като полунощ на празно небе,
звездите говорят на моята душа
с прошепнати надежди,
Обличам раните,
които баща ми засади на езика ми,
Аз съм малкият пророк с голям рог,
наблюдаваната истина на детето,
Плача не за мляко, а за вода,
добротата се предлага
от безименен свещеник,
чиято мотивация лежи
в люлката на древните текстове,
напомняйки на живите
да стъпват внимателно,
защото крилата са прелетели
от богатство до просяк
и от бедност до крал,
В момента съм никъде,
чакам да отида някъде,
не съм сигурен в нещо,
не вярвам на никого,
освен на Млечния път,
където науката изучава боговете
и мистиците на хората,
Аз съм стъпките,
взиращи се в здрач
с надежда за зори,
Аз съм в повечето мечти,
където чудесата тласкат неверието
до ръба,
и докато тук пея думи,
които на мнозина звучат
като приказка от конюшнята на Езоп,
за да наблегна твърде силно
на липсващата част,
какво е да следваш диктатите
на скептиците,
които знаят края на всичко,
които мразят с общо проклятие в теглич,
Коя устойчивост отрича
слуха на човек,
който все още
разголва душата си до изгрев,
Оттам, където
истината изгрява
и не почива,
докато пише, че е част
от съвета на правото без нюанси

Превод Мирослава Панайотова


Between steps,
Ancestral fire, flames licking the dreams,
Of a knee, low in raised silence,
A sunny bud, brooding on black soils,
Am the kite, whose string is loosed from the root,
Flying, prying, praying,
I step between steps like a dancer,
But far from it for am a panther,
Black like midnight on an empty sky,
The stars speak to my soul in whispered hopes,
Dressing the wounds my father planted on my tongue,
Am the small prophet with a big Horn,
Blaring a child’s observed truth,
I cry not for milk but for water,
Kindness is offered by a nameless priest,
Whose motivation lay in the cradle of ancient texts,
Reminding the living to tread with care,
For wings have flown riches to a beggar and poverty to the king,
Am presently at nowhere,
Waiting to go somewhere,
Unsure of something,
Trusting no one but the milky way,
Where science studies gods and the mystics of earthlings,
Am the stairs staring at dusk with hopes of dawn,
Am in most dreams where miracles push disbelief to the edge,
And while here, I sing words that to many,
Sound like a fairy tale from Aesop’s stable,
For to lean too hard on the missing part,
Is to follow the dictates of naysayers,
Who know the end of all they hate with a common curse in tow,
Which resilience does deny the ear of one still baring his soul to sunrise,
From where truth rises and rests not,
Till it says it’s piece at the council of right without shades.


Списание „Нова асоциална поезия“, бр. 27, април, 2020