TO ‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎MY ‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎DAUGHTER

if they tell you, you’re only an apple,

don’t take offence.

watch.

and forgive.

and listen to Miles Davis, Shostakovich,

the crickets in the evening, birds in early morning.

and at night don’t even listen to yourself.

smoke. write. draw.

do not forget:

the cigarettes, the leaves, the drawings

burn and give warmth differently.

buy yourself a razor, loaf of bread, a crimson dress -

someday you’ll surely need them all.

call me just to tell me you exist.

under the sooty cloudless sky

you’ ll meet people with the souls of dogs

and dogs with the eyes of a young lover

the one you’ll learn to hate if needs be.

and don’t forget to smell the roses

in a world where weeds take over

where the difference between ‘’heaven’’ and ‘’hell’’

is in the clearing of the throat.

Translated by Hristo Dimitrov / Edited by Tom Phillips