From the steel-cold bite of pain
I cannot save you.
From the marsh of doubt
I cannot save you.
From yourself
I cannot save you.
I can be stronger
for the power to save you,
Yet there is nothing
for me to save you from.
Write Your Heart Out
Tuesday, May 31, 2011
For Good by Teodora Mihailova
For good, he sees not
the way I look at him,
for loneliness is necessary.
For good, he feels not
the coldness in my heart,
for darkness, it is necessary.
For good, he knows not
of my doubts of sin,
for righteousness is necessary.
For good, he still believes
my eyes are full of light,
for emptiness is necessary.
For good, he sees not
the evil in the right,
for punishment is necessary.
the way I look at him,
for loneliness is necessary.
For good, he feels not
the coldness in my heart,
for darkness, it is necessary.
For good, he knows not
of my doubts of sin,
for righteousness is necessary.
For good, he still believes
my eyes are full of light,
for emptiness is necessary.
For good, he sees not
the evil in the right,
for punishment is necessary.
by Teodora Mihailova
Every day is the same,
nothing ever changes.
Every face i know,
everybody tires me.
Every day is the same,
but everybody's different.
No day ever comes again,
the before is far away.
Every day's the same,
all i have today
is the belief that one day
i will wake up in a better day.
Every face i know,
everybody tires me.
Every day is the same,
but everybody's different.
No day ever comes again,
the before is far away.
Every day's the same,
all i have today
is the belief that one day
i will wake up in a better day.
by Teodora Mihailova
Sixteen bloody battles,
Seventeen tears like waves,
Fourty miles through mist,
A hundred frozen days
Seven ghostly voices,
Many fears like snowflakes,
An evening and a chance,
A flower and a dance
I'm living for the kiss
Fighting against time,
Striving for that second
When you're always mine
Wednesday, April 27, 2011
Afternoon Coffee by Mihaela Zaharieva
Every day was the same. Get up. Tie my hair up. Coffee. Go to work. Afternoon coffee. Back to work. Go home. Eat. Go to bed.
A repetitive schedule which repeats itself five times a week with the other two days being just a second. A brief stop to a cycle… or just a part of it. Before I realized it that cycle had become my life. Never ending repetitive actions. Nothing ever set apart one day from the other and it seemed that it would go on forever. But one day it changed.
That afternoon I was going to the usual coffee shop ordering the same sandwich and espresso as every day. The sky was covered with clouds as usual and the whole scenery was as gray as it could be. I sat down on the table, where I always sat and looked out. The scenery never changed. Tall buildings, people and cars rushing by and the big clock in the middle of the square.
Suddenly the sun shone through the clouds just as the bell on the door rang as a new customer entered. It was a man about my age with long hair wearing a bright red jacket. As he walked in the whole shop seemed to brighten up as if color spread around covering the gray of the afternoon. He was smiling as if it was the happiest day of his life and there wasn’t a place he’d want to be in more that this little coffee shop. I didn’t understand that. Why would this make anyone happy? It was just another day. The same as the previous one and probably no different than the next one. Thinking that way I didn’t even notice the time until my phone rang reminding me that my work was waiting. I quickly finished my meal and rushed out of the shop not even noticing the eyes glancing at me.
The next afternoon it repeated. The same man walked in this time in a green t-shirt smiling as the day before. The same thing happened again the next time I was in the shop.
The fourth time it was crowded. There weren’t many seats and I was lucky to get my usual table next to the window. When the door bell rang I wasn’t surprised to see him again. It had become usual but his smile still puzzled me. Looking at my clock there was still an hour and a half left from my break. The weather was strangely warm and the usual grayness of the city seemed to intensify it.
“My I sit next to you?” the sudden questioned startled me. I quickly turned to the source of the voice and saw the same man. He was with his red jacket and had that same unusual smile. Without realizing it I nodded.
That afternoon became unusual. I drank my coffee as I talked with this man that I didn’t know at all and it seemed unreal.
On the next day he sat with me again even though there were many empty seats this time. When I noticed it was about time for me to go back to work I decided to ask.
“Why do you always smile like that? Its not like the day is special but you still seem to be unusually happy with it.,” I had barely finished my sentence when he laughed. It wasn’t in a rude way or anything like that but it still seemed like a very strange reaction.
“Every day is special in its own way.”
“But… the city is the same shade of gray. And the people are the same rushing by. I am the same.”
“That is not true,” he looked at me a bit amused. “You see there are all those small details which change every time. For example a few days ago was the first time we saw each other. Yesterday was the first time I saw you smile. And today is the first time this week that you have had your hair down. And tomorrow will be special too. It will be Saturday and I hope you would go to dinner with me.”
A repetitive schedule which repeats itself five times a week with the other two days being just a second. A brief stop to a cycle… or just a part of it. Before I realized it that cycle had become my life. Never ending repetitive actions. Nothing ever set apart one day from the other and it seemed that it would go on forever. But one day it changed.
That afternoon I was going to the usual coffee shop ordering the same sandwich and espresso as every day. The sky was covered with clouds as usual and the whole scenery was as gray as it could be. I sat down on the table, where I always sat and looked out. The scenery never changed. Tall buildings, people and cars rushing by and the big clock in the middle of the square.
Suddenly the sun shone through the clouds just as the bell on the door rang as a new customer entered. It was a man about my age with long hair wearing a bright red jacket. As he walked in the whole shop seemed to brighten up as if color spread around covering the gray of the afternoon. He was smiling as if it was the happiest day of his life and there wasn’t a place he’d want to be in more that this little coffee shop. I didn’t understand that. Why would this make anyone happy? It was just another day. The same as the previous one and probably no different than the next one. Thinking that way I didn’t even notice the time until my phone rang reminding me that my work was waiting. I quickly finished my meal and rushed out of the shop not even noticing the eyes glancing at me.
The next afternoon it repeated. The same man walked in this time in a green t-shirt smiling as the day before. The same thing happened again the next time I was in the shop.
The fourth time it was crowded. There weren’t many seats and I was lucky to get my usual table next to the window. When the door bell rang I wasn’t surprised to see him again. It had become usual but his smile still puzzled me. Looking at my clock there was still an hour and a half left from my break. The weather was strangely warm and the usual grayness of the city seemed to intensify it.
“My I sit next to you?” the sudden questioned startled me. I quickly turned to the source of the voice and saw the same man. He was with his red jacket and had that same unusual smile. Without realizing it I nodded.
That afternoon became unusual. I drank my coffee as I talked with this man that I didn’t know at all and it seemed unreal.
On the next day he sat with me again even though there were many empty seats this time. When I noticed it was about time for me to go back to work I decided to ask.
“Why do you always smile like that? Its not like the day is special but you still seem to be unusually happy with it.,” I had barely finished my sentence when he laughed. It wasn’t in a rude way or anything like that but it still seemed like a very strange reaction.
“Every day is special in its own way.”
“But… the city is the same shade of gray. And the people are the same rushing by. I am the same.”
“That is not true,” he looked at me a bit amused. “You see there are all those small details which change every time. For example a few days ago was the first time we saw each other. Yesterday was the first time I saw you smile. And today is the first time this week that you have had your hair down. And tomorrow will be special too. It will be Saturday and I hope you would go to dinner with me.”
Wednesday, February 16, 2011
Spring by Siyana Ivanova
Speck by speck by speck
The wind carries away the ashes
(That had once been my world)
While Spring is dancing her first steps
That slowly turn into a cavalcade
Of countless little wings
Which make the air tremble.
Why does not the lack tear me apart,
And why do I feel the sun on my face?
I should have melted away, I should have
Been broken into little pieces
And collapsed from the roofs like snow.
After every breath that seems to be last,
Why is there a next one, next one, I inhale,
I breathe, and I take in Spring
Into my veins, and why are they not bloodless?
Spring. Spring. Spring.
I want to live.
The wind carries away the ashes
(That had once been my world)
While Spring is dancing her first steps
That slowly turn into a cavalcade
Of countless little wings
Which make the air tremble.
Why does not the lack tear me apart,
And why do I feel the sun on my face?
I should have melted away, I should have
Been broken into little pieces
And collapsed from the roofs like snow.
After every breath that seems to be last,
Why is there a next one, next one, I inhale,
I breathe, and I take in Spring
Into my veins, and why are they not bloodless?
Spring. Spring. Spring.
I want to live.
3 a.m. by Siyana Ivanova
it's 3 a.m. already, and
snowflakes fall through the streetlight
like cold fireflies
dancing with the wind
in some strange rhythm of their own
that makes me rock in my chair
as i watch, embraced by the dark,
and slowly, quietly, sink.
i run my hand through my hair and wish
it was someone else's -
the hair or the hand, it doesn't matter -
because the last living thing that touched me
was a snowflake.
and when it did, it died.
and i remembered how once,
at 3 a.m., you were telling me a story
about snowflakes falling through the streetlight
like cold fireflies.
and then, at 3 a.m.,
we were finally able to sleep.
(only it's 3.32 now.)
snowflakes fall through the streetlight
like cold fireflies
dancing with the wind
in some strange rhythm of their own
that makes me rock in my chair
as i watch, embraced by the dark,
and slowly, quietly, sink.
i run my hand through my hair and wish
it was someone else's -
the hair or the hand, it doesn't matter -
because the last living thing that touched me
was a snowflake.
and when it did, it died.
and i remembered how once,
at 3 a.m., you were telling me a story
about snowflakes falling through the streetlight
like cold fireflies.
and then, at 3 a.m.,
we were finally able to sleep.
(only it's 3.32 now.)
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