By Yasen Vedrin
(The Bulgarian Chronicles -
Chronicles of the Poets)
Many guests I have met in this long life and place,
Only yellow I missed, poet friend!
I would sleep under bridges, on benches in space...
And from mournful dreams glow till the end.
Many stairs I have climbed. All in unequal fights.
Someone malicious tripped me with a noose.
And I taught my own heart to mourn bleeding in nights,
But fearless of grave winds let loose.
Many brothers I warmed of poor Gavroche’s line
And built barricades for them out of my verse.
And this world — this dark world, like a night in design,
I conquered with bonfires ablaze and diverse.
Many cups I have drained with a gas-stove coffee,
But the absinthe I strictly refused to partake.
That old devil, it seems, caught a rage and a plea
And spat out a storm for my sake.
Many pale, fragile youths wept their tears into me
From the soulless and loud howl of Mammon today.
Yet I yearned and created — inspired, flying free,
Even on the sharp nail in my way.
Much faith I have gathered with horses in flight.
And I sharpened my quill into shrapnel and steel.
If the worst ones had robbed me of all in their night —
Nothing holy could they ever steal.
Many roads I have roamed. In much fire I burned.
And I found a sweet spell in the myrrh and its grace.
To remain within it — as a sin offering turned.
Crucified with the Savior, till the end of the race.
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