My City of Varna by Ann WoodMy city is not Rome and Vienna,
nor London, Paris, and Moscow.
It is a tiny light universe,
with a heart of throbbing waves.
My city is the city of dreams -
every street, every square
bring sun, under the footsteps hidden -
white sun from the white world.
My town has a thundering name,
blessed and short - Varna.
Something says, "Come, call me!"
and unbelieving, I too go
to catch up with another miracle,
reborn in the dust of the city.
Then I stop ... Wow
is my heart ... I see -
who calls me so long
and he pulls me with his hands,
something I want to give, take me -
it is ours, my sea!
I turn to the city and see -
all over Varna is looking at him now -
how the bluish footsteps go
to kiss the shore again.
My city is the city under the stars,
with a breath of summer, a sand spark.
He is huddled in my eyes, hidden,
like a tiny light tear.
My city is in the salt of the waves,
my city is day and night,
my city has my dreams,
brings joy and a little sadness ...
I'm here - a little evil, a little holy,
someone says to me with a ship's voice:
"Read the words of the heart!"
And there he simply writes: "Varna" ...
Poetry by antoniya katelieva-wood
Read 137 times
Written on 2019-05-13 at 17:55
Save as a bookmark (requires login)
Write a comment (requires login)
Send as email