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The spider
makes pirouettes on the shadows of the sleep,
above it,
horizons interweave the spells.
Our shadows
projected clockwise on the top
are arching
towards the edge of childhood.
The circle in which it sooner gets dark
is the nightingale`s night-hole.
I`m following the passing of time
through the same sphere.
The harmonies of life
are looking for escape from slowness.
The morning ear drums
unravel the sounds
of the round archеs bending.
The PlovdivLit site is a creative product of "Plovdiv LIK" foundation and it`s object of copyright.
Use of hyperlinks to the site, editions, sections and specific texts in PlovdivLit is free.