{"id":3978,"date":"2017-09-18T10:11:06","date_gmt":"2017-09-18T07:11:06","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/plamensivov.com\/?p=3978"},"modified":"2025-10-03T11:11:50","modified_gmt":"2025-10-03T08:11:50","slug":"%d0%bf%d1%80%d0%b5%d0%b2%d0%be%d0%b4%d0%b8-%d0%bd%d0%b0-%d0%b0%d0%bd%d0%b3%d0%bb%d0%b8%d0%b9%d1%81%d0%ba%d0%b8","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.plamensivov.com\/?p=3978","title":{"rendered":"\u041f\u0440\u0435\u0432\u043e\u0434\u0438 \u043d\u0430 \u0430\u043d\u0433\u043b\u0438\u0439\u0441\u043a\u0438 | Plamen Sivov’s poetry in English"},"content":{"rendered":"

\"\"<\/a>\"\"<\/a>\u041f\u0440\u0435\u0432\u043e\u0434\u0438 \u043d\u0430 \u0414\u0438\u0430\u043d\u0430 \u0421\u0442\u0435\u0444\u0430\u043d\u043e\u0432\u0430<\/a><\/strong><\/p>\n

Winter Rain<\/em><\/strong> | \u0417\u0438\u043c\u0435\u043d \u0434\u044a\u0436\u0434<\/a><\/p>\n

Oh, how this winter rain would glide along,
\ndescending down the landscape’s bristly curves\u2026
\nIt’s waiting just for our „Come on!“,
\nbut simply, no one’s there to say the words.<\/p>\n

Beneath, through the November mist at last,
\nthe color-yielding trees are quiet now,
\nrenouncing their leaves and summer past
\nand pounding on the sky with bare boughs.<\/p>\n

And thus renounced, we gather bitter taste
\nto ourselves, to our old addresses.
\nAnd so it falls again, but not that rain \u2013
\nbegotten, not created, of one essence.<\/p>\n

***<\/p>\n

Dog-Man<\/strong><\/em> | \u0427\u043e\u0432\u0435\u043a\u044a\u0442-\u043a\u0443\u0447\u0435<\/a><\/p>\n

The man that they compared to a dog
\n(because he bears it all with faithful ease)
\nsits on his hunches, rooted in the ground below,
\nconversing with the little foxes and the trees.<\/p>\n

From down below, the man is watching all the hills
\nand all trajectories the human beings paint –
\nthey squint against the sunlight, gently sneeze,
\nand from their talking drizzle words like summer rain.<\/p>\n

The sun is peeking out behind the mountain rims
\nand licks the cloud with drops of gilded glamor.
\nA rainbow stretches out – so beautiful, it seems.
\nThe man from down below observes, enamored.<\/p>\n

The people up there saw him in the evening,
\nthey fluttered over him and laughed into the night.
\nThe man that they compared to a dog
\nhis freedom with their laughter fed and kindly smiled.<\/p>\n

***<\/p>\n

Solomon\u2019s Bride<\/em><\/strong> | \u0421\u0443\u043b\u0430\u043c\u0438\u0442<\/a><\/p>\n

You came to me, a presence I have known,
\nyou left your perfume trailing in the snow.
\nThe soft enticing figure of a mountain,
\nthe shadows falling like a veil of darkness,
\nthe voices rise in ecstasy around me
\nto fill the air burning with your memory.
\nRelentlessly they drown me and they save me,
\ndrown me and save me,
\ngiving and forsaking \u2014
\nI dream of you from deep within my solitude.
\nImprison me with hands, unravel me with eyelids,
\ninside of you I hope to be redeemed.<\/p>\n

The storm is chasing morning to remind me,
\nthe music playing softly in the distance.
\nI\u2019ll think of you and walk to the horizon,
\nI\u2019m filled with pain, desire irresistible
\nto let my passion ripen in the wilderness.<\/p>\n

***<\/p>\n

Friday<\/em><\/strong> | \u041f\u0435\u0442\u044a\u043a<\/a><\/p>\n

Along the trail, an image have you gathered \u2013
\nthe crumbs of memory, an endless day?
\nThe grasses, they are women, it is Friday,
\nyour laughter, once again, is blessed away.<\/p>\n

Each pain right here stems from the conception
\nthat brought a day the world can laugh its load \u2013
\naway from Saturdays and their vengeance
\nand close enough \u2013 a prayer down the road.<\/p>\n

You\u2019ll need a thirst to last a lifetime
\nto lick the point of every mountain peak.
\nAnd then to sit down by the river, silent,
\ndown by the verdant moss that warmly speaks,<\/p>\n

and there you can play your games of summer\u2026
\nBut still, your feather is in raven black.
\nThat, which you love, is quickly weighing downward;
\nthat, which you chased away, keeps coming back \u2013<\/p>\n

to seek you out, and then for you to find it,
\nso that the both of you can hurt and stay.
\nWhen you deceive it, you are sad for trying,
\nit laughs when you are quiet, just the same.<\/p>\n

The ancient trail, the grasses, they are laughing,
\nthe fading day that burns into the deep.
\nAnd you would laugh as well, but it is Friday \u2013
\nyour laughter is forgiven, if you weep.<\/p>\n

***<\/p>\n

4.30 in the Morning<\/em><\/strong> | 4.30 \u0441\u0443\u0442\u0440\u0438\u043d\u0442\u0430<\/a><\/p>\n

So early still, at half past four a.m.,
\nshe wakes up in my arms and rises slowly,
\nto touch me stretches out a quiet hand,
\nand opening the window, stands to watch me.<\/p>\n

So early still, at half past four a.m.,
\nshe searches for the sunrise in the distance,
\nbut doesn\u2019t know it yet, that this is simply death,
\ndisguised as permanence and smiling blissful.<\/p>\n

Within the sea of faces, she\u2019s adrift,
\nher refuge seeking certainty from falling.
\nThis is her country, welcome to her gift,
\nthe autumn of her life unfolding slowly.<\/p>\n

What childhood dream she visited of mine,
\nher secret name in silence as I whispered?
\nHer features I attempted to divine
\nbeneath the bridal veil, with yearning wistful.<\/p>\n

The day will come, and happy noon will shine
\nabove her home with effervescent patience.
\nShe keeps on smiling through her fingers still,
\nand yet her faith is melting like a glacier.<\/p>\n

At half past four a.m., so early still,
\nthe longing has conquered the vague reminiscence,
\nthe thought that undoubtedly somebody will
\narrive, spilling seeds in her womb, fill with meaning her spirit.<\/p>\n

And a flame in her eyes flickers now, does it not,
\ndoes the sweat of the world drench her body to try it?
\nNo one else, but the sun in its fullness will know
\nwhat brings her to laughter, what brings her to dying.<\/p>\n

And it\u2019s so early still\u2026 And we hear the sound
\nof the poets, exhaustedly yawning from tension,
\nbut with her, just with her they are speaking right now \u2013
\nour planet\u2019s exuberant senses.<\/p>\n

The morning rain will cleanse again
\nto white the city\u2019s dreams with kisses damp.
\nAnd every fallen angel will ascend
\nso early still, at half past four a.m.<\/p>\n

***<\/p>\n

Nocturne<\/strong><\/em> | \u0412\u0435\u0447\u0435\u0440\u043d\u043e<\/a><\/p>\n

She always enters on her own,
\narrives on days of cloudless lightness.
\nThe jug of water fills alone
\nand her initials in the sky keeps writing.<\/p>\n

She washes all the old regrets
\nand does the ironing with patience.
\nIn forecasts quiet weather is expected
\nwhen quiet times with her begin descending.<\/p>\n

And it will always be the same \u2013
\nthe evening shedding drops in placid gardens.
\nThat special silence bearing her name
\nwaits for your conversation starting.<\/p>\n

The setting rays of sunlight find her still
\nand shades of twilight start to kiss her faintly.
\nA pencil point, a landscape, color filled \u2013
\na woman your entire life is painting.<\/p>\n

A sign to you is given not to speak,
\nperhaps it\u2019s not the time for idle chatter.
\nAnd seeing through the eyes of you, she\u2019ll weep;
\nand breathing through the lungs of you, she\u2019ll matter.<\/p>\n

You lost yourself within her fading trace
\nand out of wisdom failed to keep the secret.
\nYou lost yourself, but know this much is given:
\nand it will always be the same.<\/p>\n

***<\/p>\n

A Fountain in the Rain<\/strong><\/em> | \u0424\u043e\u043d\u0442\u0430\u043d \u0432 \u0434\u044a\u0436\u0434\u0430<\/a><\/p>\n

Rain is splashing blue droplets and waving
\nropes of moisture all over the ground.
\nClear water pours into the pavements,
\nthe cemented pails of this town.<\/p>\n

And the square is suddenly empty \u2013
\nrunning inside is the plan to embrace.
\nJust the rain and the fountain remaining,
\nwhich had always stood there, in its place.<\/p>\n

But it rains and a fountain is senseless,
\nbut it rains and a fountain\u2019s absurd \u2013
\nwasting water for nothing is reckless\u2026
\nMr. Mayor, hello, are we heard?<\/p>\n

While it\u2019s raining, the fountain is shameless,
\nwhile it\u2019s raining, a scandalous hit\u2026
\nOut of water we both have been created \u2013
\ncity mud isn\u2019t scary one bit.<\/p>\n

See the sky as it drowns in the rain,
\nin the fishnets of lightning flashes.
\nThis small town may be randomly plain,
\nyet hotels are too crowded.<\/p>\n

And wherever you are, I imagine you so,
\nas you wait at a bus stop and shiver.
\nYou and I are just two drops of water that flow
\npouring back to ourselves, slowly resistant.<\/p>\n

Then it stopped. After rain it is simple.
\nChildren play in the puddles and run.
\nWe can warm our elderly figures
\nat the rays of a star brightly young.<\/p>\n

And the square is suddenly living,
\nwithout memories and without blame.
\nAnd I tell you: the fountain is just a beginning,
\nand our life \u2013 it is only a game.<\/p>\n

***<\/p>\n

Conversation<\/em><\/strong> | \u0420\u0430\u0437\u0433\u043e\u0432\u043e\u0440<\/a><\/p>\n

You asked if I was here still.
\nYou asked me, but I didn\u2019t know.
\nA shedding sound of evening spilled
\nand down your tired shoulder rolled.<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

What melody I heard before
\nit plummeted into the place
\nwhere sky and water meet the shore
\nand merging, bitterly embrace\u2026<\/p>\n

And I remembered just your laugh,
\ntoo soon arriving on its way.
\nYou asked if I was here still.
\nKeep loving me, so I can stay.<\/p>\n

***<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

Watercolor<\/em><\/strong> | \u0410\u043a\u0432\u0430\u0440\u0435\u043b<\/a><\/p>\n

Falling asleep, you will see me \u2013
\nfaithful and yours for the claiming.
\nI won’t be asking, while caressing your sleep,
\nif we had been ever\u00a0related.<\/p>\n

Falling asleep, I will see you \u2013
\nreaching concepts of piety, slowly sipping their taste:
\nand whatever we love, whatever we’re grieving
\nis becoming the same thing from which we are made.<\/p>\n

The wind, scattering, rearranges the landscapes,
\nspilling into the spaces \u2013 no memory, no goal.
\nWildly lifts us away, disobeying, abandoning \u2013
\nwatercolored, our faces merge in one vicious whole.<\/p>\n

We can hardly inhale above waters pallid,
\nbrooks are gasping for breath, underground, darkly fated.
\nAgeing elations and tearless eyelids \u2013
\nwe are born every morning defenseless and naked.<\/p>\n

I am blessing the snow, silently shed,
\nas my footsteps back home are tracing their pattern
\nto questions that stretch to the morning ahead
\nand to love, getting worn out and tattered.<\/p>\n

Wander in dreams through the valley of books,
\nWuthering Heights, and the England of memories\u2026
\nTwenty years old and in love, as you looked \u2013
\nwho do you think will always remember you?<\/p>\n

Try to never look back to seasons and beckonings,
\ngive your song to the world and release it.
\nTrust a passage that leads to the sea flowing endless,
\nand then walk on the shore. It’s easy.<\/p>\n

***<\/p>\n

The Boy with the Exhausted Wings<\/em><\/strong> | \u041c\u043e\u043c\u0447\u0435\u0442\u043e \u0441 \u0443\u043c\u043e\u0440\u0435\u043d\u0438\u0442\u0435 \u043a\u0440\u0438\u043b\u0430<\/a><\/p>\n

The boy with the exhausted wings remains,
\nthe mirror doesn’t show a friend reflected.
\nBetrayal is predictably effective.
\nAnd guilt is carrying all too many names.<\/p>\n

The boy with the exhausted wings remains \u2013
\nand do you know him, son of angels fair?
\nWhat happened to the common past you shared \u2013
\ndid you forget, or fail to understand<\/p>\n

the healing flowers, walls of tender stone,
\nthe lips, their bruises from the silence peeling?
\nThe bird out of the cage he will be freeing,
\nbut will he resurrect himself, alone?<\/p>\n

The bird will fly above the fallen town ahead,
\nabove the dreams of people bleeding slowly
\nand, knowing that she’s wingless, she’ll be falling
\ninto a soul \u2013 as simple as our bread.<\/p>\n

The boy with the exhausted wings remains.
\nHis memory to no one he will bare.
\nThe legs of hope are short \u2013 and everywhere
\nshe walks upon familiar terrain;<\/p>\n

the flame is burning in her fragile hand,
\nthe remnants of the new beginning pour horizons.
\nAnd out of every mirror he is rising \u2013
\nthe boy with the exhausted wings, again.<\/p>\n

***<\/p>\n

Wish I Could Go On Without You<\/strong><\/em> | \u0418\u0441\u043a\u0430\u043c \u0434\u0430 \u043c\u043e\u0433\u0430 \u0431\u0435\u0437 \u0442\u0435\u0431<\/a><\/p>\n

Searching patiently the house of my past
\nto uncover what vanished
\nthrough tapes and dusty old records \u2013
\nsome piece of music, just a few notes
\nthat happened a while back, so many years ago\u2026<\/p>\n

Truth is, I sought something recorded by chance
\nwhen you laughed \u2013 twenty seconds of life.<\/p>\n

Wish I could go on without \u2013
\nto resolve you to past tense,
\nand remember you only on holidays,
\nand to laugh when finding old photographs,
\ndisassemble the eyes, the smell of your body,
\nforgetting, forgetting that dimple\u2026<\/p>\n

Wish I could go on without you.<\/p>\n

At shadowy hours I remember your features.
\nIt was like an old film, we were little and funny.
\nWe hunted for images, sculpting our memories,
\nand I kept all of this,
\nbut your face only melted away.<\/p>\n

Wish I could go on without you,
\nbut the attic of time makes
\nour hands seem awkward and heavy,
\nand not even knowing, we have killed our together.<\/p>\n

Wish I could go on without \u2013
\nto misplace the address and the number,
\ncarry on \u2013 years and years.
\nTo start learning again how to be loved,
\nnot remember the shape of you
\nand your hands, touching me, the hurricane raging
\nand us \u2013 the exhausted\u2026<\/p>\n

Wish I could go on without you.<\/p>\n

***<\/p>\n

Daybreak<\/strong><\/em> | \u0423\u0442\u0440\u043e<\/a><\/p>\n

Silence as long as eternity \u2013
\nalmost a planet, created.
\nSeems like from nothing, returning,
\ninto your arms I am staying.<\/p>\n

Briefly I travelled, yet distances
\nbloodied my feet as they smoldered.
\nFirm, the horizon is lifting
\nsunrises over your shoulder.<\/p>\n

Dawn will descend its redemption
\ninto our pains intermingled,
\nand I will find in their tremors
\nsomething that I will be wishing.<\/p>\n

Wishing for us to be genuine \u2013
\nonly ourselves; simply sounding:
\nI’ll be your thirst through the emptiness,
\nyou’ll be my water boundless.<\/p>\n

Wishing our dreams a prediction,
\nmagical summer unspoken,
\nancient and cobbled-stoned fiction,
\ncherries and linden tree blossoms.<\/p>\n

Your mountainous ridges await me,
\nslowly the hill I am climbing.
\nGlowing in twilight, your face is
\nlighting my way like an icon.<\/p>\n

***<\/p>\n

***<\/em><\/strong> | ***<\/a>
\nMy best acquaintances are those<\/em>
\n With whom I spoke no word<\/em>
\nEmily Dickinson<\/p>\n

Both love and enmity are known
\nby the intensity of silence.
\nWith quietness we punish our foe,
\na friend rewarding likewise.<\/p>\n

We harbor silent tendernesses and disdains,
\nsubdued to hush by rage\u2026 Or otherwise, by pleasure?
\nBut once we slip a bit, our conscience, aged,
\nerases the between-dividing measure.<\/p>\n

***<\/p>\n

Sometimes<\/em><\/strong> | \u041f\u043e\u043d\u044f\u043a\u043e\u0433\u0430<\/a><\/p>\n

Sometimes I stay too long inside the hour
\nthat lies between „I love“ and „I desire.“
\nI wonder, if these tracks were music sheets,
\nwhat would the streetcar sing with morning’s choir?<\/p>\n

Within the space dividing „past“ from „present“
\nwhere thoughts of you are licking and caressing
\nincessantly my palms, my eyes, and temples \u2013
\nso thrice I curse myself a moment later\u2026<\/p>\n

Through morning high above and rushing dreams,
\nthe slamming of the sunrise comes at last.
\nI leave, and still ahead, among the grass
\nthe Lord is striding,
\nwise and carefree.<\/p>\n

It’s cleverly designed, and so relentless \u2013
\nthe stream that bears your tender name is crawling.
\nIn front of me, its final droplets emptying.
\nI am becoming past tense now \u2013 since our world is conquered.<\/p>\n

Sometimes I stay too long inside the hour.
\nNot daring a single taste of sunlight.
\nBut differently the sun today was rising.
\nNot like a sunrise. Like a liturgy, triumphant.<\/p>\n

***<\/p>\n

Dual Citizenship<\/em><\/strong> | \u0414\u0432\u043e\u0439\u043d\u043e \u0433\u0440\u0430\u0436\u0434\u0430\u043d\u0441\u0442\u0432\u043e<\/a><\/p>\n

The country of the other life unfolds,
\ninvisibly and quietly existing
\nacross nine ocean laps of swimming distance
\nand through one more \u2013 a bridge to the untold.<\/p>\n

To find it takes you centuries. Or mute,
\na moment on your knees is long enough.
\nWords there derive from just one verb, „to love“
\nand only water guns are used to shoot.<\/p>\n

It’s bright, no clear boundary between
\none’s slowly heading off or taking flight,
\nor yearning for the sea or mountain heights,
\nor footsteps left by strangers or by kin.<\/p>\n

Through the abyss, around the park you took
\nthe path that led you to the water spring,
\na turn, and then the house of John within.
\nBeyond to Mark, to Matthew, and to Luke.<\/p>\n

And joy is simply pouring from the gutters,
\nthe children, sneezing, splash each other, playing.
\nHere, men of wit debate in verses, saying
\nthat poetry is scientific matter.<\/p>\n

The yards, the pots of lilac blooms that sway,
\na man returning on a ray of light\u2026
\nThe news, unaltered, always told inside \u2013
\nof Him, Who loved us in a perfect way.<\/p>\n

From chimneys fragrance in the twilight streams
\nof all the forest herbs in one bouquet.
\nThe sky above is pregnant with our weight
\nuntil our lives are over like a dream.<\/p>\n

The pains of labor trickle down in sweat \u2013
\nthe only kind permitted to the sky
\ninside the country of the other life,
\nthe birthplace of the poets who are dead.<\/p>\n

And we, who in the afterlife believe,
\nits frequencies finding, hide the tracks.
\nIt’s here, though. The „after“ ones are we \u2013
\nand frankly, there’s forgiveness in that fact.<\/p>\n

Come holidays, for entry stamps we line
\nin churches \u2013 embassies to heaven – hungry
\nfor bread and wine, for visas and abundance
\ninside the country of the other life.<\/p>\n

***<\/p>\n

A Warm Welcome<\/em><\/strong> | \u041f\u043e\u0441\u0440\u0435\u0449\u0430\u043d\u0435<\/a><\/p>\n

One octave full of silence plays.
\nOne mellow April afternoon.
\nI hear the early bees, and they
\nspeak of the summer coming soon \u2013<\/p>\n

upon the hour when the light
\nbegins to swarm, its breathing heavy,
\nand winter painfully resides
\nalong the tips of grassy meadows.<\/p>\n

The barking of a dog. The sigh
\nof blossoms from the anxious trees,
\nand last year’s nest that sits inside
\ncollecting coins of sunlight ease,<\/p>\n

in hopes to purchase yet once more
\nthe downy feathers of new flights,
\nand songs, and fear of the claws
\nof Grizzly cats that prowl the night,<\/p>\n

the beating of new life to start
\nwithin its empty straw embraces\u2026
\nThe weathered nest becomes a heart \u2013
\nits flock today anticipating.<\/p>\n

One octave full of silence plays.
\nBeyond it \u2013 spring, and not a sound.
\nThe flock, resembling a man,
\nkeeps stumbling across the clouds.<\/p>\n

***<\/p>\n

Premonition<\/em><\/strong> | \u041f\u0440\u0435\u0434\u0447\u0443\u0432\u0441\u0442\u0432\u0438\u0435<\/a><\/p>\n

A hundred years from now this street will be unchanged again \u2013
\nthe flowerpots, the pavement, and the seven ancient chestnuts.
\nEach morning trolley bells will wake the houses with the same refrain,
\nand birds in trees will sing their concerts, festively.<\/p>\n

A happy woman will appear on the balcony,
\nthe fragrant smell of ironing and coffee in her distance.
\nA child against the sunlight squinting, will be wondering,
\nreflecting on the secret source of his existence.<\/p>\n

And someone will be hurrying home to write his syllables.
\nThe sky above will seem increasingly indifferent.
\nThe world will be supported by the slender filaments,
\nthe hands of hope preserving everything invisibly.<\/p>\n

And like a barren acorn shaken from its greenery,
\na hollow life will fall toward the winter, rolling.
\nAn old man’s reverie will feed his pigeon for the last time, keenly.
\nThe current times will claim to be the last, as always.<\/p>\n

And so much mercy will suffuse the air tenderly
\nthat winds will scatter it by handfuls. Life, regarded
\nanother hundred years from now, will stay unwavering.
\nAnd I’ll be someone who was here briefly \u2013
\nand departed.<\/p>\n

Your Life is Also Mine<\/em><\/strong> | \u0422\u0432\u043e\u044f\u0442 \u0436\u0438\u0432\u043e\u0442 \u0435 \u0438 \u043c\u043e\u0439<\/a><\/p>\n

Fading sound of guitars, skies colder above.
\nLeft behind us, how many songs!
\nTwo last cigarettes, coffee still in the cups.
\nOn the road home, you are always alone.<\/p>\n

Every past has expired, every dream slowly burnt.
\nI am tired. Is there no one who can
\nstand beside me and tell me, without saying a word:
\n„Look at me now. Your life is also mine.“<\/p>\n

I’d like to be walking back to you, quietly
\nthrough a sea of people rushing along,
\ntouching each of your smiles with my hand tenderly,
\nmemories are our stories and songs.<\/p>\n

Every pain to acknowledge, no make-up or shame,
\nwading into pouring rain and the grime,
\nand whenever at night I am holding your hand,
\njust to tell you: „Your life is also mine.“<\/p>\n

And perhaps I’ll be walking a long time ahead,
\nI’ll forget the crowds and the season,
\nthe unravelling youthfulness down to a thread,
\nand my outcome that waits for a reason.<\/p>\n

Through the darkness your white hand is searching for me,
\nI’ll be your clown in the old pantomime.
\nBut your laughter is real – like it used to be.
\nHold me closer. Your life is also mine.<\/p>\n

Fading sound of guitars, skies colder above.
\nLeft behind us, how many songs!
\nTwo last cigarettes, coffee still in the cups.
\nOn the road home, you are always alone.<\/p>\n

***<\/p>\n

Autumn<\/em><\/strong> | \u0415\u0441\u0435\u043d<\/a><\/p>\n

Afflicted with autumn, the trees begin weeping,
\nrepenting by shedding their leaves in the distance,
\nconfessing their summer freneticalism,
\ntheir sunshine-deficient character weakness.<\/p>\n

Perhaps the aching will continue still
\nand gutters, ice-cemented,
\nwill pound the frozen window panes until
\nthe hands of spring would let them enter.<\/p>\n

And each following autumn chases you down the park,
\nthrough the foliage the soles of her feet thudding clear \u2013
\nbut you have just a thin coat in the dark
\nas a shield from her words getting near.<\/p>\n

Will the warmth in that voice from your memory fade,
\nour souls that caresses with soft, pastel kindness?
\nGet in under my coat, we’ll imagine this way:
\nAutumn days are the portholes in the hull of a ship
\nthat dissolves through the beautiful sunset in silence.<\/p>\n

***<\/p>\n

Your Hands<\/strong><\/em> | \u0420\u044a\u0446\u0435\u0442\u0435 \u0442\u0438<\/a><\/p>\n

You said: I want to see you in my dreams.
\nAnd winter stepped up higher, retreated yonder.
\nBefore the ancient sky fell down the seams,
\nI wonder if I warmed your hands from wanting?
\nI wonder if I warmed your hands from wanting
\nbefore the ancient sky fell down the seams.<\/p>\n

You said: the silence doesn\u2019t have a shade,
\nbut let the stork arrive, fold wings into the nest.
\nI watched too long the hollow world I\u2019d made,
\nbut never found a home where I could hide and rest.
\nAnd never found a home where I could hide and rest.<\/p>\n

You said: the silence doesn\u2019t have a shade.
\nYou said: At last, the world is now complete.
\nJust love me, can you hear how life is laughing softly!
\nWe followed dawn together, walking east,
\ndissolving tender into trust and closeness.
\nDissolving tender into trust and closeness.<\/p>\n

You said: At last, the world is now complete.
\nYou said: I want to see you in my dreams.
\nAnd winter stepped up higher, retreated yonder.
\nBefore the ancient sky fell down the seams,
\nI hope I really warmed your hands from wanting.
\nI hope I really warmed your hands from wanting
\nbefore the ancient sky fell down the seams.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

\u041f\u0440\u0435\u0432\u043e\u0434\u0438 \u043d\u0430 \u0414\u0438\u0430\u043d\u0430 \u0421\u0442\u0435\u0444\u0430\u043d\u043e\u0432\u0430 Winter Rain | \u0417\u0438\u043c\u0435\u043d \u0434\u044a\u0436\u0434 Oh, how this winter rain would glide along, descending down the landscape’s bristly curves\u2026 It’s waiting just for our „Come on!“, but simply, no one’s...<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":3979,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"give_campaign_id":0,"footnotes":""},"categories":[29,21],"tags":[1036,862,1037,717,1007],"class_list":["post-3978","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-29","category-21","tag-diana-stefanova","tag-english","tag-plamen-sivov","tag-poetry","tag-translation"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.plamensivov.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/3978","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.plamensivov.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.plamensivov.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.plamensivov.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.plamensivov.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=3978"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"https:\/\/www.plamensivov.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/3978\/revisions"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.plamensivov.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/media\/3979"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.plamensivov.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=3978"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.plamensivov.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=3978"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.plamensivov.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=3978"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}