Poems of Marin Angel Lazarov (Bulgaria - Finland)

TRUMPET
Marin Angel Lazarov (Bulgaria - Finland)


In the wild and burning quietness

resounds a trumpet - lonely eye.

It opens wide the pupil — tenderness

before endearment of the apparent harm.

Among the shadows the bends

stretch desperately the faraway cry.

Among the sounds they scorch with diligence

the written words in rhyme.

And there - above the earth

ascends the spirit - a bespattered old precept.

But the dusty Gods catch up with him

and puddle fiercely new dirt.


©®Lazarov Marin Angel




CHAOS


The ruthless jostling with slithery palms

on a bloody collapse.

The role of an idiot who's got it -

He'll never be allowed

To the world of sensible.

The palms are suffering.

The shades fall down

With amorous delay

Under transparent light.

The faith

And its lechery

Take wing

Towards the south.

Or north.

All the same to me.

The sun is shining.

Scarlet scales

Which have got the blood from a red fish's

Wounds.

The white from a variegated painting

Forgotten after the rain

Is always deceitful.

The wind -

A dangerous silence -

Mixes everything.

We've got

Chaos of impossibilities.


©®Marin Angel Lazarov




I SEE


I see the loving blood

ooze down between those fair legs.

And on the top two hands

wind with tenderness and malice.

In the empty eyes I see

pure drops of the soul.

The body is now quiet.

The head turns in fear.

I see something white

peeping in the dark recesses.

And water's running out.

Onto the lips it's sliding now.

I see a black raven

emerge from deadly heavens.

I hear a pallid swain

utter fervent words for love.

I see unruly tresses

intertwine in infidelity.

The soul keeps on being quiet

and awaits old age to come.


©®Marin Angel Lazarov




IT'S OVER


They said, "It's all over!"

I got up.

Put on my trampled coat.

And went on.

First I didn't make out -

Something was missing.

I started to ponder.

My memory was lost.

There were old pictures worn away

On the native walls.

The spots remained fresh.

The paint - moist and ever young -

Enraptured me with her breath.

I looked down to my feet.

Saw a worm -

Hastening somewhere,

Twisting in its wormy way,

Keeping up the pace.

I, too, kept up the pace.

I discovered the beauty anew.

She was once a grief -

Having been possessed a good many times.

The wind buffeted my face

With wrinkled palms.

Desolation.

I got everywhere.

Recollected old liberties.

Felt faint after precipitous turns.

I began to realize -

I don't want to live

The new way.

A belated comet drew

Three words on the untamed sky,

"It's all over."

And I - lying in the earth -

was humming

a forgotten tune about love.

Beautiful, isn't it?


©®Marin Angel Lazarov





MANY TIMES I'VE ASKED MYSELF


Many times I've asked myself,

"How much am I worth?"

Converted into money -

0.00 cents.

Converted into friends -

only one,

me to myself.

Converted into smiles -

a face frowning with suspicion.

Converted into years -

minus future plus past

equal to a false present.

Many times I've asked myself in a funny way

and still I can't find the answer.

It's just that my head aches from asking.

Meanwhile, my girlfriend left me

because I applied spirit compresses to my weak chest

and she thought I drank too much.

She can go to hell!

©®Marin Angel Lazarov





OH, HOW I WANT TO . . .


Oh, how I want to tread on my shadow -

To free myself!

To be able to walk down the streets

With motley girls.

To smile to the beggar

And show him tom pockets.

To count the clouds

And name them

Until my neck gets stiff

And then peer down

And try to pick out

Which ants are females

And which are males.

To pad around the dustbins

And guess by the smell

What the folk have had for dinner.

Split

To sit down in an airy place,

Straight on the ground,

Without going in fear of my clothes.

To catch the stinging mosquitoes

in my mouth.

After that to spit them upwards

As the moon will show me -

You can't live without a shadow.

In the end to get asleep

And have a dream

About how tomorrow

The sun ill bring back my shadow.


©®Marin Angel Lazarov




ROOM

White, moonlit room.

Silence and a puff.

The music that's ceased

puts me to sleep with a breath.

White, drowsy room.

Freeness, boundlessness.

The risen love

touches me tenderly.

White, sad room.

Light, without a name.

The beauty’s ramming

at night amidst the stars.

White, dark room.

A cloud