Recovery

Illness wraps me in a feather quilt

the cold spears through.

Stupor holds me between

blurred reality and unreal dreams.

‘Care for a cup of tea’ I hear your voice

through my closed eyes,

while I’m saving

hanging children

in multicoloured costumes.

It must be the medicine.

On the fifth day vitamin C will expel

the free radicals and populate me

with anxious conservatives.

Translated by Tom Phillips

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