Translated by Plamena Vulcheva
When I was little I wanted to be many things
and for all of them I had to stand on top of a chair.
That’s probably why I never grew tall,
although I still love looking up
at the skies so blue,
the trees so green,
your eyes so dark,
and at a pigeon on the slate pillar.
I will climb you and then pull you up.
Hold my purse for a bit.
Amongst the general stagnation,
and the liquor-sodden poets of my generation,
you can take what I’ve got to give at this moment,
roll it up onto a reel
and raise the kite
of this, let’s say, love
within this sinister storm of flying remains.
I have nothing to teach you.
I just want to listen to what you hear.
Eternal sunshine of my spotless mind
in the most beautiful minor.
When you live with a cat, you learn
to leave the doors slightly afar
so it can go everywhere.
I melt the nostalgia into bullets
which I will fire later.
Probably at myself.
Or maybe at someone innocent
who looks like you.
Who smells of you
and forgets like you.
I’m waiting for him.
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