MIROSLAVA PANAYOTOVA

 

***

 

What is the meaning of the roughness

with which we speak,

what is the meaning

of the edges and the coldness,

with which we touch,

what is the meaning of the malice

with which we address

to each other

converted

in a little stone of hatred?

Disgraces that marked countless lives,

draw the vulgarity of you and others,

they give rhythm, they oblige,

they read your epitaph

and they don't miss with light fingers

to throw dust at you

and then - maybe - the flowers...

 

Какъв е смисълът от грубостта,

с която си говорим,

от ръбовете и хлада,

с които се докосваме,

от злобата,

с която се обръщаме

един към друг,

превърнати

в малък камък на омразата?

Падения,

белязали безброй животи,

чертаят пошлостта на теб и другите,

те дават ритъм, задължават,

надгробно слово ти четат

и не пропускат с леки пръсти

да хвърлят върху тебе пръст,

а после - може би - цветята...

 

***

 

The girl looked up at the sky,

realized it was going to rain.

She took an umbrella with her,

locked the door, and hurried through the streets.

When she got there, she stopped.

She opened the bag, looked around,

fix your hair.

She saw the clouds again through the window.

It started ti rain outside.

When he came out,

her face was wetter

than the streets and trees.

The smile in his hands was for her, it crept

over the fingers, it penetrated

in her hair.

"You shouldn't stand alone,

"he told her, "and listen to your steps."

The city outside

flickered in lights.

 

Момичето погледна към небето,

разбра, че ще вали.

Взе чадър със себе си, заключи,

по улиците се забърза.

Когато стигна там, поспря.

Отвори чантата, огледа се,

оправи си косата.

Видя пак облаците през прозореца.

Вън заваля.

Когато той излезе,

по-мокро бе лицето ѝ

от улиците и дърветата.

Усмивката в ръцете му

за нея бе,

по пръстите полази,

в косата ѝ проникна.

"Не бива да стоиш сама - ѝ каза, -

и в стъпките си да се вслушваш."

Градът отвън

трептеше в светлини.

 

 

***

 

I woke up once at four.

I went outside in front of the block.

The greenery had dawned

before the day

and in the silence the leaves sang.

It was morning - a celebration of the green.

Just a scent

and hope.

 

Събудих се веднъж към четири.

Излязох вън пред блока.

Зеленината бе изгряла

преди деня,

а в тишината

пееха листа.

Бе утрин,

празник на зеленото.

Само ухание и надежда.

 

 

MIROSLAVA PANAYOTOVA

 

MIROSLAVA PANAYOTOVA (Bulgaria) graduated from Plovdiv University, specialty Bulgarian philology and English language. She has published poems, stories, tales, aphorisms, essays, criticisms, translations, articles and interviews in periodical and collections. She has published the following poetry books: Nuances, 1994, God of the senses, 2005, Pitcher, 2014, Whisper of leaves, 2017, Green feeling, 2018; two books with stories: An end, and then a beginning, 2017, Path of love, 2018; two eBooks: Laws of communications /aphorisms/, 2018, Old things /poetry/, 2018. She is a member of the Union of the Independent Bulgarian Writers and a member of Movimiento Poetas del mundo. She is a member and a coordinator in the team to the e-journal Ghorsowar, too. Miroslava Panayotova is an ambassador of IFCH (International Forum for Creativity and Humanity). Her verses are translated in English, Spanish, Greek, Albenian, Uzbek.