Winners of the Love Poem contest LOVE MAN (in Bulgaria)

DIMA CHONOVA

FIRST PRIZE

***

While traveling
I close my eyes –
And I am with you
I open them - to get out
…Around me is full with
Eyes closed women

***

I dreamed your dream.
You wrote my verse.

***

With you we are
two drops
of milliards
in the groove of the time
merged into a lake
before the sun to come.

***

Autumn stamping on the roof.
A sudden cold blowing gently
most likely chilled the wind
shivered in my soul to warm.
A yellowing sensation
sheds a leave,
brings tear to the eye.
In a such night
it would be sad
to leave me
alone with this rain-
a cheeky kid
stolen of splash in me.

***

After the coil of the pain-
the golden point of the sun.
Beloveds
The thin moon
rounds off by pleasure

Translated by Rositza Pironska


STANKA BONEVA

SECOND PRIZE

SOW ME A SEA

Sow me a sea, my dear
sow me a sea.
There, on the olive’s hill
our world will over.
I will emerge from the foam
as in the first day.
You will tear apples -
for me, just for me.
We will wrap us with clouds
of light.
You will kiss my eyelids,
i will blush.
You will pour tenderness in my hands -
enough for all summers.
You will relax your lips
in my winter hair.
Once to root the element,
the dust will take us in.
Sow me a sea, my dear
Sow me a sea!

Translated by Rositza Pironska


TZONKA HRISTOVA

SECOND PRIZE

AFTER THE LOVE

After the love
the day was the same:
the hot kiss of the coffee,
the second cigarette,
the murmuring cloud of the sparrows,
the sigh of deadbeat
sheets and the table not cleaned the last night.
I refuse to remember how it seemed
-what eyes, what hair, what taste of it…
But why rush back to my dream
golden colors and unfamiliar words
the loneliness with which to carve ...
I’ve even not suspected,
that it was for me the bed and the bread
the afternoon nap, the candlelight dinner,
a whirlwind of tears and laughter
in the nights of heat
the stubbornness, to put in order
the messy room of my life.
And I was for it the cradle and the grave.
It was conceived in my womb
and buried in my heart
a stillborn bird. . .
After it, as stooping back,
useless the world became again

Translated by Rositza Pironska


LYUDMILA DUKOVE

THIRD PRIZE

АLIVE

my tongue licks
the analgesic edge of your lips

the bleeding of words stops

and then
i breathe
i breathe
i breathe

Translated by Rositza Pironska


PENKA GROSHEVA

THIRD PRIZE

DISCREPANCY

I share my pain
and you, so deaf,
talk about yourself.
Divergent words -
misunderstood and foreign
cold as snow they shower.
Tomorrow the wind will blow them
with the colors
of the unfertilized apples.
And just the smoke
of the both cigarettes blends
and scatters
in the space ...

Translated by Rositza Pironska


KAMEN KOSTOV

HONORABLE MENTION

***

when i kill you
i will fall asleep -
to ressurect you
in my dream


surmounting gravity

having already crossed the threshold
I turn my back to our earthly days
we go on board the big balloon swinging gently
and take off up into the stratosphere
with the considerateness of a stanza we ascend
towards the unintelligible temporary space
having forgotten oases-mirages
we penetrate into the sense of nothingness
in search of...
do we search or find
the having echoed back in ourselves infinity
that we’ll convert into new mainland
that has surmounted storms hurricanes and notions
in which we’ll implant
the very essence
long since suspected and untouched

Translated by Kamen Kostov


TZENKA KUCHEVA

HONORABLE MENTION

Because

... between us was possible
a story.

... And after
without sending a telegram
the winter arrived.
A Story put on
the coat black and formal
and it enveloped her slender body.
With two large suitcases
with a small violet veil
she’s smoking slowly a long cigarette-holder
alone at the station ,
sophisticated and unavailable.
And we the both
before her stare blue
we board on two adjacent trains
which
at the railman’s whistle
depart beyond retrieve
in east and west.
A story
shed a little secret tear
with the two suitcases leaves slowly
the station just depupolated
to reach the city
where between two others
would be possible
a story.

Translated by Rositza Pironska


MARIA NIKOLOVA

HONORABLE MENTION

***

The Desert is Oasis’ mother.
Their fathers are occasional travelers.
By the promises of voluptuous joys
and escapes in secret hours
has flushed a water among the sand
and palms wet has sprouted
that lured the men by cry:
"The desert is a mother of mirages”

Translated by Rositza Pironska