Translated by Ivangelina Vateva
Ever since he found his glasses
this man gets lost more and more often
in the streets of the city
and he can’t remember who he is.
he doesn’t notice
how the walls in the room
shake at nightfall
the books – wounded birds,
start flying from the shelves
and the ink plumage covers
the table and the armchairs,
blurs the edges of the objects
and the delayed kisses.
He´s short of breath
that’s why he can’t read in my eyes
the weariness and what I kept to myself –
that my house is not
my castle anymore.
In his stomach this man is hiding
a voracious mushroom
that devours all my joy.
Ever since he found his glasses,
he doesn’t see the notes with
‘water the flowers’ all over the house
that’s why they’re slowly withering
just like my desires
and as I listen to the voices from outside
I find it harder and harder
to recognise my own.
In between you have your life, I have mine
and the messy bed of I miss you
there’s an insuperable shift of seasons
harboring your fears
and my freedom –
paralyzed like the steam locomotive
in a central station’s waiting room.
And like an engineer gone mad
who’s stopped the fast train of desire
amidst the poppy fields,
you close your eyes to see more clearly
the little girl pulling a lost sky
hanging from her kite
but on your temple still flows the kiss
that the angel of oblivion scarred you with.