Darkest Coffee

In the palace
into my mind built castle,
In a marble walled,
Marble floored one spot Cafe 

Heavy heart and,
Heavy minded,
I walk inside, 

To have another cup of coffee black.

Walking slowly,
On the chess board black
And white tiled floor,
I then approach, slowly siting down...

The only table in that place
Half white, half black -
It is my table
Where I sit - alone.

'I want my coffee
Dark and bitter please.
“Like my life was
Until now." 

The olive skinned,
Mysterious barista,
Existing here only, now,

She comes, she serves me and she disappears.

One more time
I'll drink... and ponder
On all the 'if's
And all the 'why's of past long gone.

One last look,
Last gentle blow
In the bitter earth' nectar...
I take first sip.

Now and here, there is only me,
The palace and the marble
One client only, exquisite Cafe,
A while cup, and the coffee... bitter, dark.

The first sip -
A liquid kiss,
Black fire scorching
tissue thirsty. My soul is free.

Now nothing doesn't really matter.
Nor if I'm having coffee
Or the coffee slowly
Is consuming me.

Crimson Fog (Lust)

I have secrets. 
In fact... I have a lot.
This particular, however, 
I love, desire, and despise.

Lust! A crimson fog that comes

To snatch my brain. 

Again. 

And makes it fly into a bleeding sky.

And lift it high 
Then even higher
To splash it hard
In pleasure, guilt, of fluid brain.

Perceptual, erotic ebbs
Of flesh and heat alive
And bashing, crashing flows of 
ends and halts and death.

Elevating all my flesh 
And all my soul's contents 
In screaming,
Maddening orgasms.

Depleted  
Out-of-soul
Out-of-body 

Out-of-matter.

Only where Sea of passions
Shore of Death explodes
The lust is gone.

And only where life

And death collide

And then, before it starts... again,

For a moment I am at peace.

The Pain (obsessed with it)

Pain is grey,

And pain is blue,

The pain is red,

And pain is... death.

Allergic to pain,

Addicted to pain,

Just fine with the pain.

Pain, Pain, Pain!

Give me more of it,

Let me drink of it,

Don't let go of it,

Get rid of it... No.

Allergic to pain,

Addicted to pain,

Just fine with the pain...

Pain, Pain, Pain!

Dive into it,

And dwell into it.

Run away from it,

Dig it, and eat it. Shit it.

Allergic to pain,

Addicted to pain,

Just fine with pain...

Pain, Pain, Pain!

Give me more of it,

Can't let go of it.

Allergic to pain,

Addicted to pain,

Just fine with pain...

Pain, Pain, Pain!

Lacrima, Lacrimosa (fear of tears)

The fear of tears

Is hard as a stone

Almost impossible, 

To tear the fear apart…

Time and again beginnings and ends 

Will meet and collide  

Tear down and build up,

Time and again.

Laughter and sorrow

Elation or love,

Pleasure or awe… somewhere among,

Linking together the powers of dawn

Fear the tears,

Denying the ends,

Or, let tears well up -

Abolish control…

Is the well almost empty?

Or the well has a hole…

Was the sun much too bitter?

Throughout a voyage so long…

Something might be missing,

Some things could be found.

Sometimes in the spaces,

Some place in time…

 

   

Haiku Elegante (Dance)

Mad dust in a gleam.

Sing my heart. Dance! No music…

The floor is now gone.

Of Healers, Witches And Warlocks (Burn)

One pair of eyes… yours.

Two pairs of eyes, three..

Fourth pair of eyes...  Screams!

Yellow, red, orange... Flames!

Bonfires, people and mud, screams...

I can’t see… I go deep.

I walk with a cane slowly. Now I see...

I’m there, Now I feel...

It’s a dark, cloudy, short day.

I hear a bell tolling…

“Tintinnabulum”, a boy shouts,

I don’t comprehend…

I turn to my right,

I understand...

"Thou shalt not suffer a witch to live",

The Dark one is screaming.

Three pyres, three wild bonfires,

Three miracles defeaters - light up three times by three.

One woman is screaming,

Her eyes are shut.

One woman is praying,

She is looking upward.

One woman, the closest,

She's looking at me…

Her face convulsing,

Her eyes are in pain.

Now she is smiling, she’s smiling at me…

Yellow, orange, and blue – Flames!

Fourth pair of eyes – Screams!

Third pairs of eyes, two…

One pair of eyes… you.

I sit in the chair.

You are there with me.

You look into my eyes.

I look into thy.

The room has returned,

The heat is still there.

Now the alarm’s on, and…

This is the end.

You smile, 

And I smile.

And we say

our goodbyes…

The faint odor of fires,

Disperse on the street.

I sip that dark coffee

Another cycle - complete.

Vikings (FIGHT!)

Swords, axes... shields
In hands able, craving to kill
Pointing at bear flesh,
Ready to bleed, suffer. Die.

Burning with hate eyes,
Boiling with rage hearts,
Ready to die now,
But not ever surrender.

Strong bodies -
In flames,
Stronger will
In our veins.

The silent moment in time.
Then a scream screams 
"FIGHT!"

Rain, mud, and flesh,
Blood,
Victors and dying -
Enmeshed.

All things, gods are now

One.
In that moment,
All's done. 

Mirror image of a mirror (Silver screen)

Face me! Turn around.

I face myself

Into a mirror,

And into a mirror world;

Into a universe

So close –

So far away.

Almost insane…

Where I am myself

Yet microns away

From the “real world”

Everything’s perfect. 

You know…

Under the surface

Of this old, cracked

Silver screen

I reach and I touch - you.

Blood there, under the surface, 

Is fake.

I am an actor there, 

You’re acting too.

When this movie’s over,

Another one will begin.

No one really gets old,

No one really cries,

No one really dies…

Everyone stays at the table, 

Forever young.

The Gift (For P.)

When time has come,

it’s always coming…

to say “Good bye”

to our friend.

The day was bright

and God was smiling,

it was our turn

that day to cry…

We sent it back

to its Creator,

there was a void

in our souls.

God was sad

one early morning,

and we were sad

without that bird.

That very night

an angel told us

into unusual,

prophetic dream.

“Do not be sad,

as you are blessed,

God gifted you

instead with child. 

Pticho (For P.)

God was sad

that early morning,

His tears falling

with the rain.

The grass, the trees,

the yellow flowers,

were feeling glad

to be so wet.

Remember

we were having coffee,

when both of us,

we saw the bird?

You said to me

“We have to save it!”,

and I agreed –

we've saved it’s life…

For many years

a little spirit

was watching over –

at me and you.

In rainy days,

when God was weeping,

it made us smile –

remember Him…

Your Eyes (For L.)

Where my soul

would be sent to journey

every time I look into your charming,

sorceress eyes? I simply don’t know…

When you were born

out of the purest and most precious love,

our eyes have met

for the very first time and I was lost.

Into the blue

of the deepest ocean,

souls traveling in concert

the magic of the unexplored dept.

I just need to look 

into your eyes… and my soul is off…

into a nebula of silver stars

where the angels meet to dance.

Sometimes, I like to loose myself

into the dreamy, sleepy blue

where we sit together

at the bank of the quiet lake behind the house.

And sometimes,

quite rarely indeed,

I look into your yeas, and later weep

into my hands, in secret.

Because in your eyes,

I see my eyes –

reflected, smiling.

Even if there’s nothing in my life to smile about. 

The Blessing (For L.)

Touching your finger,

I say to you “Hey, Boo!”

Bursting out in laughter,

you say to me “More! More!”

Smiling at you gently,

I pinch your little tow.

Laughing at me loudly,

you say to me “No more!”

Sitting at the table,

I draw for you a house.

Armed with yellow pencil,

you draw for me a tree.

You sneeze –

I say “God Bless you”.

I sneeze you –

 say “Good Night”.

I’m opening your door –

you’re sleeping.

I’m kissing you –

Good night.

At the table,

later – smiling,

I say at least

“I’m blessed”.

We Are Them (...and they're - us)

“When I become a swallow I will sing and chirp every morning…”

From the BBC’s documentary Bulgaria's Abandoned Children

Traveling through life,

occasionally haunted

by shadows in the wind

we’d glimpse sometimes.

No way to verbalize,

or comprehend it –

we feel attached to them

as they are glimpsing...back at us.

I see my specter sometimes

when it is windy.

I shiver slightly

knowing not how he might feel.

Despite avoiding him,

however,

he sometimes calls my name -

to please come back. And stay.

I always knew

the old time saying

 “Let done be done” -

but I never understood.

Profoundly inadequate 

we cast our shadows

always wandering,

always in the wind.

The Art Of Forgetting

Dreams, nightmares, dreamscapes...

Every night.

I plunge into another one -

Again.

Certain shadow 

Is looking for me - restless, 

In the mist of undefined, 

And subtle forms of thousand dreams.

It is not one to fret me, 

Or to punish me or even worse...

She just takes me for granted

And wants me to stay with her - once and for all.

She sometimes sits uncomfortably,

Pretends that I am not

So terribly important  -

Not at all, not any more...

But I know her better -

She'd not even blink

And risk it all, including me, 

To be with me forever in her dreams.

Dear shadow, in my dreams, 

Locked there forever, misunderstood.

Everyone had tried -

Everyone had miserably failed.

Sometimes I cry for you,

Sometimes I dream into the dream,

That I go to sleep, never to weak up,

And stay with you... 

I would be blessed if I knew 

The great art of forgetting,

But I am cursed remembering what never happened, 

What did and even what will happen too...

Curse

How much 
of a destructive power 
is too much for the soul
to bare on?

Is there a dark, so dark, 
out there - that's being able 
to consume all light... 
the entire light?

How many 
vicious repetitions
will finally destroy the good...
all the good?

Could evil 
be so arch-evil 
to be inherited from
by the young and from the old?

How many generations 
are there needed 
to destroy 
this diamond hard? 

And how such curse 
could be un-cursed 
and evil such
could be undone...

The Grand Design - An Understanding Attempt

Decoding heaven, hell…

Balancing, on one hand,

One’s perfect design,

and evolution on the other.

Understanding…

The master key, the Master’s lock –

disintegrated…

No lock, no key, not even a door?

Pursuing perfection

seams as impossible as a chimera.

The immortality –

to conquer time…

As impossible is the perfection,

at least as of today,

is it an improbable Creator’s plan

as well imperfect after all?

A perfect Architect – Designer,

would He be an author 

of middling structure

that is in disrespect of logic, beauty and of rational?  

The mere existence

of continuous desire for perfection

defies the purpose of a perfect plan

(as of today) for such an imperfect realm. 

Black Rose

Onyx-black rose

is the keeper 
of all souls.

A gentle hand 
is plucking petals

time after time... time after time.    

Guiding Star

Can’t write today –

my pencil’s heavy.

My mind is racing

with the violent ocean storm.

I walk confined

amid the demons,

I hear their

brutal gnash.

With shaking hands

I hold on faintly,

to a reality

not quite so real.

I moments such

of deep desperation,

I search my soul

for help, for hope.

Small baby hands

are holding there

my heavy, tired,

ageing hands.

A smiling face

is always there

to guide me trough

the troubled days. 

I can accept

the days of fluster

and find my way

amid wild seas.

As long as I

have eyes to find her –

my love, my life,

my guiding star.

The Eight Night From Today

Seven days

In seven countries  

Seven times  

I've sold my soul.

Seven times

My seven masters  

Seven nights  

They tore a piece.

Seven parts

My soul is smaller  

Seven parts  

Are still intact.

Seven days

Are running shorter -  

Seven nights will  

Fly by fast.

Your Beloved – Antagonist (With An Encore... in Bulgarian)

Turn around

And look into my eyes.

Now take my hand…

And take me to that ancient drinking hole –

That’s clinging to the cliffs over the black sea,

Where winds are licking

The dark waves with raging passion.

And leave me there

Drinking – to oblivion,

The wine so dark

Like venous blood is when it leaves the body.

As in the desert

I am dying camel thirsting…

Let me drink!

My thirst has no end.. and no beginning.

One last time – let me fuck

Like elephant bull in heavy musth.

To roar, to scream into orgasm

With eyes fixated in that bloated, crimson, savage moon.

And then,

When I fall down,

Like bull into arena, with a pierced heart –

You let my blood to slowly

Flow into the dust.

And like a burning candle at both ends –

You let me burn.

So you’ll forget me not,

And I’ll stay in you – Forever.

Encore... in Bulgarian

Твоя Любим – Антипод

Обърни се.  

Виж моите тъжни очи.

За ръката хавани ме.

Поведи ме към онази стар бар – 

над морето

вятърът дето страстно

ближе тъмни вълни.

Остави ме там

до забрава да пия 

като венозна кръв 
тъмно вино.

Като в пустиня

камила прежадняла –

да пия, защото моята жажда 

няма няма начало и няма край.

За последно да чукам

като разгонен слон.

Да крещя и да вия,

към дива, подута, червена луна.

И после нека – 

като падна, като на прободен във сърцето бик,

кръвта ми бавно да се смеси

със прахта – да изтече.

Като запалената свещ

от две страни ме остави –

да изгоря.

За да ме има тук – при теб и за да ме помниш.

Sad, Sleepy Clown

It is hurting

when I see you hurting…

when your gentle eyes

I see departing from you smile;

And when the sun morose 
is now departing,

when shone

so bright into the afternoon.

If I can not

go back in time

to make you smile,

can’t make the sun

come back to your street…

Then I am slightly lost,

as I have lost my entire purpose;

and I am lingering

from twilight into (yet) another one.

Now I could only put myself

(again) in trust of the wise Morpheus

and try to find a reason

in my dreams once more.

The Crash

The pilot

of the plain

is having seizure!

My life

is going down

to crash the ground!

A piercing alarm

into the cockpit

has locked my face

in dreadful mask.

The body

of the plain

is ghastly shaking.

The turbulence,

velocity –

ignite the brain.

There is a passenger

into the plane –

she’s shouting…

"I can not hear!

I don’t

understand…"

Then,

I’m hearing,

so loud and clear:

“It is all right” she says.

“Beyond the darkens –

there is a light!”

There comes the crash,

the flames,

destruction…

I'm just a shadow

in somebody else’s dream.

Separate Together

Listen to the girl  

who’s singing.

Softly by the window

in the summer haze.

Look into her eyes

and see the moonlight –

dancing slowly,

mesmerizing… in cadence.

Slightly sad –

the song is floating

and flies away

into the breeze.

The last couplet –

the song born, breathing –

the girl now silent,

full of hope.

With quiet pray

she sends her kisses,

along the vibrant,

loving song.

Somewhere,

in the middle of a desert,

a lonely boy

is smiling soft. 

Into his dreams

he is getting kisses. 

He hears 

the singing, praying girl.

Tranquil

Sharp small noise and

sudden movement!

Red, small shadow

catch my eyes.

I look down

from the horizon,

bring my mind

to here and now. 

A little face –

a buxom chipmunk,

is looking up

into my face.

A single moment

of fixation

we lock our eyes

then it moves on.

One second… two –

it took the creature

to unconcern itself

and vanish in the bush.

And now I’m back

to the horizon…

the sky, the universe,

the author of it all.

Now I can feel the pulse

of the little chipmunk,

adjoin my slowing one with

a racing little heart.  

Dreaded Lover Fridge

Bright, fried eggs

are  populating

in my brain the "normal" sky.

Sizzling pizza

(pepperoni)

covers the entire sun.

Love a meal is,

life is craving.  

Normalcy is but a choice.

Just five steps  

the fridge - my lover

waits to lights

my face again.

Love me not!

You cruel lover...

Can’t resist you –

never could.

A Spell Of Love…No More.

(For D. my first true Love) 06/24/2013

First - you carve

these magic symbols

onto scented

candle’s wax.

Add a power,

extra power -

carve your name

right next to mine.

Wear tiny, odd,

rose jewels -

do attract

the love to light.

This ritual,

so well intended,

perform it when

a full moon shines.

Dance or sing,

but very slowly,

let me dance

right next to you…

These magic spells…

Do we still need them?

I need no more,

nor less of you. 

There was a time

when love was younger,

and when we wanted

sometimes some more.

Today I say

“Let love be older”.

So we could grow

yet young  anew.

Areté

The reality of the universe

and of the world...

Was it the force that drove the man

to be creative and to invent the heavens and the earth?

In form of multiple realities –

the mountains and the oceans,

rivers, grass, the trees, the languages and music,

civilization, God?

And then, conceived by man,

these same analogies –

are now the building blocks

of matter that we all collectively perceive as “real”?

But into this reality,

is it the quality that’s resting uncomfortably

under the pyramid of such subjective

blocks of stone - the romantic and an intellectual division

of the world of views to cover up the truth from us?

How one could possibly perceive, and then explain

the quality in such dualistically challenged reality

where knowledge is derived from an object's only aspect

or merely from underlying substance?

Is it the choice of quality that’s based

on our a priori analogies

that is defining on reality that we all,

collectively, and intimately know today?

Could it be that quality

is but another one, distinct reality

existing and uniting

the objective and the subjective realms?

Is there a way the contemporary man

could possibly unite and benefit from

an amalgamated, dualistic view of such reality –

both a subjective and an objective point of view?

And to accept the realm

of quality as a parental

to both the classic and

to the romantic realms?

By re-arranging the metaphysical hierarchy

and by allowing quality

to intermingle and to coexist with time

one then could define two sides of one, dynamic quality.

And so, the pre-intellectual reality that is the romantic quality,

evolves from the emotional, romantic realm

and the intellectual reality – the classic quality,

evolves from the mental and the subjective realm.

Where quality pre-dates reality,

created it and it is part of it.

It is It. It has been always there.

Thus simply everything and all is always one.