By Yasen Vedrin
(The Bulgarian Chronicles -
Chronicles of the Poverty)
Our life is triumphant. Just like an aria,
Perchance sung by great Luciano, so high.
They open today a free soup cafeteria
For people whose fates were crushed down to die.
Rejoice, O my nation! Alive by definition.
With warm, little soup oil your strings for a treat.
So that the poor man, near his deathly condition,
Can drag out one more day of life on the street.
Let little bright flashes float over the eyes now,
From meat with hot broth and a handful of peas.
Great mercy — all meant for the paupers to rise now!
And bounty — all meant for their hunger to ease!
To stop for a moment the agonizing rumbling
With one single lunch, surely sent by Christ's hand.
And within this dark, joyless, and miserable stumbling
The hunger won't be a grim question in land.
What of it, if those who are full have amassed now
The surpluses piled like a mountain ahead?
The wonderful, marvelous event has just passed now —
The state has released a few portions of bread.
A comfort for people so broken by sorrow.
A free soup kitchen. A tasty design.
It seems the Great Worker of Miracles tomorrow
Arrived from white clouds of Mount Zion, divine.
And Paradise pours over Bulgaria's traces.
For poor folks the herald sounds trumpets on high...
Our life is triumphant. Just like an aria,
Perchance sung by great Luciano, so high.
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