/Поглед.инфо/
Of two Bulgarias – one is redundant,
like a long-shaken mint.
The pen in verse will not describe her.
To praise her – faith will not.
That she is a paradise for a bunch of God’s chosen,
(under their masks – black satans),
who rub salt into open wounds
and they hide their faces behind marble walls.
Of two Bulgarias – one is a dining room,
laden with goods for ages,
and in the other – souls sink into the abyss
with voices inaudible due to scarcity.
And there is no bridge from Holiness to corruption.
Mercy does not touch mercy.
For the vile – the lie is the altar.
For the greedy, desire is power.
Of two Bulgarias – one is the executioner,
ready to cut hearts in an instant.
Statistics are the poor. They don’t mean
even if their blood in a ditch runs out.
A mole with a bat, a worm with a vulture,
reign in a political cradle.
And write their names in the galaxy
of blackthorns in a scorched steppe.
Of two Bulgarias – one is lustful.
Prostitute for sale with cheap cream.
Straddling. He goes here and there.
Supposedly eastern, but in a western tandem.
The retailer sells it
and the speculator – he kills her with crises.
And the weeds grow and grow,
(non-believer in love, but in money).
Of two Bulgarias – one remembers hell,
and the other – the fictional paradise.
Where do Bulgarian souls perish –
this will only be known later.
But in my so tiny universe
Bulgaria is always one –
great martyr, winged,
to pay grief for Spirit and Light.
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