The casual pain prowls

Тhe casual pain prowls - a white wolf cub

that wants to play a little more,

a little, while its teeth are still sharp,

and its eyes are ruthless, just a little

while its spine is supple still.

It crouches, ready to pounce in the void.

soundless, as if hunting

pupils – narrow and hungry,  

and this hunger, this desperate hunger

springing from its blood line…

chaotic and natural like an empty sky. 

I’ve got nothing to give to the wolf cub,

the white one, the restless;  

I bake bread, I’m giving myself.   

Translated by Hristo Dimitrov / Edited by Tom Phillips

The Bulgarian  text first appeared in ‘Wings Made of Papier Mâché ’ (Janet-45, 2019)