Bozhidar Pangelov

With its death
the day gilds
the leaves.
I do not know the names of
...

In a while,
in a second
and rain is pouring down.
One expectation like an Alpine horn
...

The night is flexible
the quiet willow
over a lake
...

as a child
I take a look

this world
...

Time is an idea of the over-ripe mind
The sky bent dries the earth
Did you achieve anything more than
...

My pigeons.
these, who live
in the birdhouse,
(for
...

Will you break off with me,
my beloved,
morsel for morsel laddu*?
My dream doesn’t come to me,
...

In English, the Greek Kalinihita (καληνύχτα) means Good Night
...

I do not expect you.
Sunken hours.
And the streets are rocking like slow guards.
I do not expect you.
...

“The voice of One crying in the desert speaks:
Marko,1.3:
Isaiah,40: 3;

And here The One is coming…
...

I remain a guard of sorrow,
of angels who are thrilling there
and of the water of the fat soil.
Insane guard
...

A splendid vase –
the setting sun rotates
in redness of the skies.
Oh! Of happiness I dream!
...

Our love isn't at ease,
just like the wind in white acacias
and like a bead on child's hand,
it's not at ease.
...

Long are the streets
and go somewhere
not like your
fingers
...

At some unnamed night,
and it will be bright,
I'll go away.
The door I will never
...

it's a time of hunger
and of plague
and of starling
the grasshoppers ate up the wheat
...

wants nothing.
It just happens
like a ray of the tree-tops
or of a temporal bone a palm.
...

That
is another night.
Of the fingers,
of the silent stars that
...

Deep in the sea,
where the sun
doesn't reach
and the galleys
...

The man who walks on
Calzada De Los Muertos, speaks
only in Spanish.
"… in the remains of yesterday
...