/Поглед.инфо/ 1
Night gives birth through a dead womb
the age-old malice of the slave:
his crimson rage –
magnificent.
Deep in the dark and fog.
Through dark valleys
– before he doubts it
throughout the Balkans
through desert forests
from Gladni Polje
through mud palanquins
village
cities
yards
through huts, huts
through factories, warehouses, stations
barns
homesteads
Watermen
workshops
the face
factory:
on roads and curves
high
on screes, urves, chukars, barda
through a syllable
and reed
through deaf vultures
through autumnal yellow woods
through pebbles
water
murky wadis
meadows
Nyvya
vineyards
shepherd’s fields
hollyhocks
burnt stubble
thorns
swamps:
torn apart
muddy
hungry
frowned upon
emaciated from work
roughened by heat and cold
ugly
to cripple
furry
black
barefoot
frayed
sorry
wild
angry
furious
– no roses
and songs
without music and drums
without clarinet, timpani, laterni,
flutes, trombones, trumpets:
on the back with ragged bags
in hands – not with shiny swords,
and with simple sticks,
shop with sopi
with fingers
with copra
with turnips
with pitchforks
with axes
with axes
with hair
and sunflowers
– old and young –
they all went down from the side
– like a loose herd
of blind animals,
countless
raging bulls –
with shouts
mine
(behind them – at night the petrified vault)
they flew forward
out of order
irresistible
amazing
a large:
THE PEOPLE!
2
The night dissolves in glitter
on the peaks.
The sunflowers
they looked at the sun!
Dawn from sleep
wake up
amid a thunder of machine guns:
From the distant ones
slopes
– blow after blow –
shutter
crazy
bullets – lead.
Tops
like gilded elephants
roared…
Trembling and fear.
The sunflowers fell to dust.
3
Vox Populi:
Voice of God
With thousands of knives
pierced
people –
blunted
humiliated
worse than a beggar,
remained
brainless
no nerves –
got up
anxious in the dark
of his life
– and wrote with his blood:
FREE!
Chapter One:
September.
– Vox Populi –
– Voice of God –
Oh my God!
support the holy cause
of rough black hands:
instill courage
in our thundering heart:
You don’t want anyone’s slave –
and here – we swear in our grave –
we will resurrect the man
free in the world.
Death is upon us –
oh let!
but beyond:
there Canaan blossoms
by the Justice promised
us –
eternal spring of the living dream…
We believe! We know! We wish it!
God is with us!
4
September! September!
O month of blood!
on the rise
and pogrom!
Misty was first
Old and
Nova Zagora
Chirpan
Scrap
Ferdinand
Berkovitsa
Sarambey
Medkovets
(with pop Andrey)
– towns and villages.
5
The people rose up
– with a hammer
in the hand
covered in soot, sparks and cinders,
– with a sickle in the fields,
drenched in dampness and cold:
men of menial labor
with verbless patience –
(not geniuses
talents
Protestants
orators
agitator
manufacturers
aircraft carriers
pedantic
writers
generals
contents
on bars
musicians
and Black Hundreds)
A
peasants
workers
rude simpletons
propertyless
illiterate
profane
hooligans
boars
– cattle as cattle:
thousands
table
the people;
thousands of faiths
– faith in the rise of the people,
thousands of wills
– will for a bright life,
thousands of wild hearts
– and fire in every heart,
thousands of black hands
– in the red circle of space
raised with a rush upwards
red
flags
divorced
high
wide
over the whole country shaken in trepidation and turmoil
of the tempest raging fruit:
thousands –
table –
the people.
6
It shone
over native Balkans,
raised navel
against the sky
and the eternal sun
lightning bolt
– thunder
shriveled
right in the heart
of the giant
centenary
oak
Hill after hill
ek fast-flying
sent far away
through hammers
heaps
to steep valleys
in stone holes
– flaming bed –
where they sleep on a propeller
warblers and slugs,
in caves
of snakes and dragons,
in deaf hollows of witches
– and the eco merged
with a distant echo:
the echo and the rap
of waterfalls
flows
downpours –
furious
plunged into the abyss
with thunder.
7
The tragedy begins! –
8
The first ones
they fell in blood.
The riotous drive
was met with bullets.
The flags went numb
pierced.
The mountain rumbles…
Up there
distant and near hills
they darkened down
with people
– they clapped
black lines:
regular paid soldiers
and the police are in disarray.
They all know:
“The fatherland
is in danger!”
Wonderful:
but – what is fatherland? –
And they bark furiously
machine guns…
The first ones
they fell in blood.
Behind the distant ones
peaks
boomed the artillery.
They trembled
cities
and villages.
Dead bodies
– bloody corpses –
they got stuck
slopes
valoz
roads…
With sabers drawn
cavalry units gave chase
the broken peasants
– killed, shot
with shrapnel, fugas
– fleeing in terror on all sides,
caught up in the houses
and cut there
with bloody sabers
under a low saivant
amid a scream
of frightened grandmothers,
children and women…
– – – – – – – – –
9
The troops were advancing.
Under the ugly sound of shrapnel
they tingled
and the bravest:
in despair
bare hands raised to the sky.
Horror without glory
froze on every face –
eyes without suffering.
“Everybody
to save himself
life!”
On all paths
here company after company descends
– infantry
cavalry
artillery.
They attack
the drums.
Panic
– high
over the torn ones
red flags –
scourge of crimson flames wai.
There
in the midst of the general commotion
alone
like crazy
epically brave
pop
Andrey
with the legendary top
shoot
shell after shell…
At the last moment:
“Death to Satan!”
he shouted
berserk and great –
and turned back
your top:
the last one
grenade
send
right there
– in God’s temple
where he had sung mass, litanies…
And surrendered.
“Hang the red pop!
No cross – no grave!”
He was standing next to the telegraph pole.
Next to him the executioner.
Captain.
The rope
it was done.
Balkans
it was getting dark.
the sky –
raw.
Poppa stood huge,
standing tall
whole
calm as granite –
no regrets
no memory
– on the chest the cross of Christ
and looking at the Balkans
far
as if in the future…
– You drop your gaze fearfully
in the face of man’s imminent death,
executioners!
What does it mean?
the death of one?
Amen!
Zahrachi
and spit.
He quickly invaded
with the rope around his neck
and
without looking at the sky
– hung up –
language
clenched between his teeth:
great
sublime
unattainable!
10
Autumn
flew away
wildly torn
in screams, whirlwind and night.
A storm arose
over dark balkans
– darkness and brilliance
and a flock of cawing ravens –
Blood sweat
hit the back of the ground.
In terror and trembling he lowered himself
every hut and home.
Pogrom!
A crash
pierce the firmament.
11
Then it happened
the worst:
Maddened
an alarming bell rang in the souls
– hits, beats, rings…
The night fell so low –
deaf and terribly locked
from all sides.
Death
– blood witch nestling
in all corners of darkness
discharge
and here it is
far and wide through the night:
with his dry hands
– long, endless –
captures and squeezes
behind every wall
a terrified heart each.
Oh night of nameless secrets!
– both secret and overt:
Megdani again with carmine bloodied.
Death screams in a cut throat choked.
On chains the ominous clang.
Prisons full of people.
In the courtyard
of barracks, prisons
of commanded volleys ec.
The doors are locked.
Dark guests are knocking outside.
A son with a revolver in his hand
lying dead on the threshold.
The father hanged.
Dishonored sister.
Villagers raised from the villages
after them – soldiers:
dark convoy.
To be shot:
Command: stop!
“Fire” –
guns rattled:
Ku
Klux
Clyan –
“there is!”
– volley
Ten troops
from the shore
they splashed hard
in the dead murky waters of Maritza.
Bloodied dragged
their native river grieved them.
Military music not far away
through deserted streets
thundered
“Forest Marica…”
Bloodied…
In trodden fields
thorny
between thistle and tall grasses
red heads are falling
with a chipped disfigured face.
Gallows spread black arms
(apparitions in dead mist).
The great march of the ax is constantly carried
hit a bone. Burning villages
illuminate the far horizon.
Bloody wadis flowed.
Flaming bonfires
they slipped with sacrilegious language
the holy foot
of God
throne.
It smelled like raw meat.
Terrified hang the heavens
they shouted
the blessed inhabitants of the bright paradise
– to God a fierce Hosanna –
End.
The hurricane stopped
robe
stopped after:
and silence
occurred
all over
side.
A bloody sacrifice to the gods.
12
Muse, sing that ruinous wrath of Achilles…
Achilles was the brute force.
The war demon.
Achilles was an old general
of H.C.V. king Agamemnon.
Achilles was a hero.
Countless
crosses, orders, ribbons…
Pedestal
of order and silence
in the country…
But today he
we no longer believe in heroes
– neither foreign, nor our own.
Troy was burned and destroyed.
Priam and Hecuba perished.
Achilles celebrates…
– What is Hecuba to him? –
His soul is wild and rough
doesn’t hear
the cry of the holy mother, torn
over nameless blood-spattered cemeteries
grown up in an instant
– so much –
countless.
– What is Hecuba to him? –
Achilles was a hero.
Achilles was a believer.
Scourge of God sent by God.
But Achilles will perish under wrath and curses.
– And he died
fell into disgrace:
to the murderer a true reward.
Agamemnon killed Iphigyria
– and died:
Clytemnestra killed Agamemnon
– and died:
Orestes with Electra killed Clytemnestra
– and died…
One remains
– stands and remains
through the ages –
Cassandra the Prophetess:
it portends retribution
– and everything comes true.
Constant whimsy, play and fun
of the gods.
Eternal bloom of divine bait.
Every death is entertainment for them,
every cry is a joke.
Death, murder and blood!
How long, how long?
Omnipotent Zeus
Jupiter
Ahuramazda
Indra
That
Ra
Jehovah
Sabaoth:
– answer!
Through the smoke of the fires
rises up and beats your ears
the cry of the slain
roar
of martyrs innumerable
on piles of burning wood:
– Who
lied to our faith? –
Answer!
Are you silent?
Do not know?
– We know!
Here, see:
with one jump
we jump right into the sky:
DOWN GOD!
– we drop a bomb in your heart,
we storm the sky:
DOWN GOD!
and from your throne
we send you down dead
to the bottom of the universal abysses
starless,
iron –
DOWN GOD!
On the sky bridges
high without end
with ropes and levers
we will capture the blissful paradise
down
on the sad one
in bloodshed
globe.
Everything written by philosophers, poets –
it will come true!
– No god! without a master!
September will be May.
Human life
it will be an endless ascent
– up! up!
Earth will be paradise –
will be!
#Geo #Milev #September #View #Info
