Hope and I

May 30

I like surprises less and less.

I don’t sense an important mission

on waking up.

I see all too easily what’s swept

behind the faces –

a little greed, great ambition,

treachery and pig-headedness.

These are all my qualities

according to the psychoanalysts.

Fine by me.

She’s small. She plays and

doesn't want to come back.

She wears a yellow frock.

I pity her a little –

she won’t grow up like other kids,

but will age down inversely

to my aging.

I’ll call her all the more quietly.

She’ll hear me all the more quietly.

My hope. I already need

to feed her.

I’m carrying a spoon.

Translated by Tom Phillips

The original Bulgarian text was published in: ‘Dear Passengers‘ (2018), Izdatelstvo za poezia DA, Sofia, Bulgaria.

Life is