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Slow train coming

  The space is pervaded with green, with the chirping of birds and the sweet smell of pollen. We are in the countryside of Dordogne, and it would be difficult for anyone to find a more idyllic setting. In general, I try not to read the news, especially here, but whenever I do, that idyllic image is replaced by another one: the slow train, picking up speed downhill. The machine engineers are incompetent and instead of stopping it and repairing the faults with care, they keep on loading it with coal. Its lights are on in the darkness; they illuminate only the small patch in front, so the passengers could see the end, but only in a fashion.  Why are we in a such a hurry to destroy our civilisation? Do we have so much that we are bored with it? There was this boredom in the air before the epidemic in 2020. I had the feeling that people, especially the young ones, were waiting eagerly for something to happen. Anything. Just not that day after day boredom. They were trying to shake it off –



Before I kissed you

I wanted to tell you

who I was.

But I couldn’t 

because we kissed out of the sudden.

So now,

when the golden waves of your hair 

wash on me -


I hadn't been called in a long time

the best man in the world

I had forgotten how 

to be good.

My past

is the past of a romantic adolescent,

who danced on tables and roofs -

because there is nothing more boring

than the safety surface

of the dance floor.

I often fell

and lost my balance

due to excessive sincerity.

I grew up in train stations, restaurants and bus stops

and I dreamed

my dreams in hotels .

I have no permanent residence

neither I want to have one

because I fear the power of things,

the fixed horizon of the windows

and people with fixed horizons…

Whether I walked to the end of bare roads

whether I collected too little

or I wasted too much -

now I own nothing else

except myself

except the quiet desire

to give myself to the last atom.

If that's enough for you -

let the golden waves of your hair wash over me.

Stefan Tsanev


Преди да те целуна,

исках да ти кажа

кой съм.

Но не успях,

защото се целунахме внезапно.

Затова сега,

когато ме залееш

със златните вълни на косите си -

изслушай ме.

Отдавна не бяха ме наричали

най-добрият човек на света

и аз бях забравил

да бъда добър.

Моето минало

е миналото на един романтичен юноша,

танцувал върху маси и покриви -

защото няма нищо по-скучно

от безопасната повърхност

на дансинга.

Често падах,

губех равновесие

от прекалена искреност.

Аз отраснах по гари, ресторанти и автостанции

и в хотели сънувах

своите сънища.

Нямам постоянно местожителство

и не искам да имам,

защото се плаша от властта на вещите,

от неподвижния хоризонт на прозореца

и от хората с неподвижни хоризонти…

Пусти пътища ли извървях,

малко ли събрах,

или пък много разпилях -

но сега не притежавам нищо друго

освен себе си,

освен тихото желание

да се раздам до последния атом.

Ако това ти е достатъчно -

залей ме

със златните вълни на косите си.



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