Throughout the history there are individuals who are remembered years, even centuries after their death. Praised, spitting followed or outcasts, they all left their indelible imprint deeply ingrown brand on the living, quivering flesh and thought of the generations after them. People who with their restless spirit and messianic presence, supplanting the boundaries of mainstream life’s of their era and direct it to its peak to peak, which is the aspiration and objective of every living thing. Seamlessly with thundering force, they mold, cut the minds of their contemporaries and their descendants, transferring invisible bridges over all the differences. Largely misunderstood, more or less recognized, they still present – even in his absence – and continue to be what they always were – artists, creators, a strong and solid foundation over which generations after them to build their cases and success. Scaffolding, without which it would not be conceivable our rich, multi cultural – historical heritage, our beautiful and complex as human relationships life.
Panting, the minutes aproach the final –
and i intermittently breathe with them
and so I wish to grab the medal –
Moon yellow midst the stardust.
The day is runaway – but not for the athletes –
for me, for you, for all of us –
pragmatists, unbelievers and poets
and the lovers in the secretive hour.
The day challenges and involves us
in the ceaseless play of the senses.
The day normally crosses
with sudden turns of fate.
That’s why at the end of the trail
minutes are so busy –
their task is perhaps the most difficult –
to break the thread, which hold us tied
to runaway of every other day.
To patch up our wings, torn,
(poor, dear, our),
to have a sun-splashed tomorrow …
Author and translator from Bulgarian: ©Borislava Boneva