REQUIEM‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎ FOR ‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎STORMS

the storms don’t last forever.

I know this from my father.

it rains.

it rains.

it rains.

it rains.

and it stops.

you are not the same thereafter

and nothing else is.

but the storm is already gone,

the sky is clear,

there are birds as well.

people embrace,

drink coffee on their porches,

look after their children,

watch tv

and their reflections in the dirty mirror.

and then you start to miss the storm.

because you’re nobody without it.

because the calm sea

doesn't give birth to good sailors.      

and no one makes sound coffins

from sturdy boats.

and your boat is already in splinters,

and with them you pick your teeth.

Translated by Hristo Dimitrov / Edited by Tom Phillips