June day by Svetlin Ivanov translated by Ann WoodJune day
June morning, the wind with the trees plays,
throws dust into my worn-out eyes
and for the complex issues of our lives we do not care,
running alone, roving in girl's hair.
I hear again the uneven poem of the bike,
with him we rediscover the world
and we leave traces on the curved paths,
laughing with sadness and looking for love.
Younger day and our time quietly runs out,
as seconds in an old clock,
like a stream in a forest forever
or as a love song of a capercaillie.
Poetry by antoniya katelieva-wood
Read 133 times
Written on 2018-06-30 at 20:17
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