Boris Rokanov

Poetry

SWALLOWS

4.57(7 votes)

Poetry

HYSTERICAL VILLAGE

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The slow dying

Translated by: Евелина Кованджийска

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I entered for a smile,

for an eloquent silence,

for several spots on the cheeks.

It's beautiful that you're loved

and you can still love again secretly

- a secret or a name or a body

-in both eyes

opposite.

The death is a tender prostitute -

that walks on your body

with a little tongue

and shuts your eyes with hypnosis.

Then the bird -

crying out its lover,

and you get scared, you sweat under the gums.

(Your thought

- arrows of colors among green meadows.

The pasture of early beasts with carnivorous feelings.)

I'm tired of the world being in front of me

in black and white,

to recognize good and evil.

The forefinger finds my favorite song

and I make a dance floor from my room -

what is between us -

walls and an air.

With a start and with an end,

and the diverse environment.

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