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Homage to the Muses

I am desperately trying to remember an idea that I had earlier. It was so vivid, so good, that I was certain that I will remember it for years to come. A few hours later — nothing. Not a single shred of memory apart from the fact that it was good and important.  Where do our thoughts come from? Are they stored somewhere, and we just put our hands down, grab one by the neck and take it to the surface of our mind? No? Do we produce them? I guess that is the answer of most. ‘It is my thought! I built it myself’?  ‘Out of what’, I would ask. I always had the feeling that the thoughts do not belong to me. It always feels rather magical to have an idea and most of the time I don’t feel happy receiving the credit for it. I feel like a fraud, like a pretender.  People in older times were somehow humbler. They believed in the existence of the Muses, and I find this very agreeable. How wonderfully humble that idea is! I produce something, but only if I am inspired by the gods. So ‘...

Unpathetic Confession

 

UNPATHETIC CONFESSION



Before I kissed you

I wanted to tell you

who I was.

But I couldn’t 

because we kissed out of the sudden.

So now,

when the golden waves of your hair 

wash on me -

listen.

I hadn't been called in a long time

the best man in the world

I had forgotten how 

to be good.

My past

is the past of a romantic adolescent,

who danced on tables and roofs -

because there is nothing more boring

than the safety surface

of the dance floor.

I often fell

and lost my balance

due to excessive sincerity.

I grew up in train stations, restaurants and bus stops

and I dreamed

my dreams in hotels .

I have no permanent residence

neither I want to have one

because I fear the power of things,

the fixed horizon of the windows

and people with fixed horizons…

Whether I walked to the end of bare roads

whether I collected too little

or I wasted too much -

now I own nothing else

except myself

except the quiet desire

to give myself to the last atom.

If that's enough for you -

let the golden waves of your hair wash over me.


Stefan Tsanev








НЕПАТЕТИЧНА ИЗПОВЕД

Преди да те целуна,

исках да ти кажа

кой съм.

Но не успях,

защото се целунахме внезапно.

Затова сега,

когато ме залееш

със златните вълни на косите си -

изслушай ме.

Отдавна не бяха ме наричали

най-добрият човек на света

и аз бях забравил

да бъда добър.

Моето минало

е миналото на един романтичен юноша,

танцувал върху маси и покриви -

защото няма нищо по-скучно

от безопасната повърхност

на дансинга.

Често падах,

губех равновесие

от прекалена искреност.

Аз отраснах по гари, ресторанти и автостанции

и в хотели сънувах

своите сънища.

Нямам постоянно местожителство

и не искам да имам,

защото се плаша от властта на вещите,

от неподвижния хоризонт на прозореца

и от хората с неподвижни хоризонти…

Пусти пътища ли извървях,

малко ли събрах,

или пък много разпилях -

но сега не притежавам нищо друго

освен себе си,

освен тихото желание

да се раздам до последния атом.

Ако това ти е достатъчно -

залей ме

със златните вълни на косите си.

 




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