Zadravka Vladova-Momcheva


Tradition

Let's obey the tradition, my Grandma said
in distant memory echoing
with my milk-tooth in her ethereal hand,
bleeding pain in slipping by seconds.

So she threw my innocent tooth on the tiles,
like a dice, attracting good fortune,
and the magic of winds spread my curious roots
miles away into merciless motion.

Like a blessing that lies many years beyond,
at the back of my very beginning,
like a pearl on the tiles, this unbreakable bond,
strings my soul's absolute meaning.

On the tiles of my life I still balance today
all my hopes and priceless illusions.
On the roof of my world, just to cry or to pray,
I climb ropes of deadly delusions.

I store there Cyrillic mute flies-
mother tongue in a guilty-sad folder.
In idyllic and dusty A, G, B tiles
I keep silent, alphabetical order.

Just in case not to lose in the past
Granny's fading, pagan tradition,
I continue to pile tooth by tooth on the tiles
in a lonely tenacious mission.

So today it is time for my daughter to throw
a pearly tooth on the tiles of her fortune.
And I hear the winds of my childhood blow
her beginning to a new luring ocean.


Cycling Backwards

The miracle of loneliness is cycling backwards
through all blind roads of your delusions.
Beyond the meanings of forgotten words,
despite the shame of dead confusions...

The equillibrium if life is cycling backwards,
crushing the walls of bygone years,
destroying memories like stuffed, dead birds,
releasing falls of ushed tears.

The joy lo love is crying backwards,
recalling moments of un-reined affection,
forgiving pains of the inflicted hurts
unting souls in fleeting resurrection.

Finding your essence is cycling backwards
on the lonely and only life-road.
Back to the chain of receptitive births
to the core of the genetical code...


Daily escapes

When all the selfish doors lock sins
and daily curtains cover pains,
sad greedy souls like empty bins
dream stormy, purifying rains.

You come to me and strip aggression,
undress the lies - all dirty clothes.
In silent, old-fashioned confession
reveal your stealthy, naked thoughts.

I pick up pieces for a picture
of fading dreams in fields of hopes.
Two lonely spirits in a mixture
we try to cut off our ropes.

In timelessness of selfish freedom,
we fly away - two reckless kites.
In a giggly, disrespectfu rhythm
we give the neighbors sleepness nights.

we smear wildly rainbow hues
into a purple-yellow-green cocktail.
We live a note for its best use,
trading lives for a fairy tale.


Chocolate Tears

I don't know how many breezy souls
swirl in the spiral of a coffee universe.
And all my thoughts in chocolate flows
melt beams of sunshine in a verse.
It's five o'clock. I know somewhere
somehow you melt in chocolate tears.
I need some jazz to start the talk
spoon of despair and crumbs of fears.
And here I am - beyond the world
beneath a sky of sugar flies,
wild incarnation of the Word -
two drops of hope in coffee eyes.


Pagan September

Silent spilts seconds after the summer orgy.
Only I and the four elements -
earth, air, water, and fire.
Sleeping nature, diamond drops in the grass
The charming Earth lies on her green bed,
waits for the Sun - her brother and lover.

* all poems previously published in Soul To Soul