Inna Ivanova

Poetry

WITHOUT

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Poetry

NOBLESSE OBLIGE

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Translated by: Hristo Dimitrov

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Ave, impervious world

we, small grains of black pepper,

we, the salt of the earth, 

we - the long cotton fields, 

wattered with insane hopes,

we

who were sent to an ordinary death,

salute you. 

Because there is time for everything,

and what happened could be ressurected

in thousands of ways.

All of them – true.

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