Treasure Island

Nicholas Nikolov

(April.6,1988 / Toronto)

The Mountains Howl

Oh Bulgaria, my dear Bulgaria,
we shall forevermore recall the events that transpired with euphoria.
Your exuberant lands have horrendously
been ravaged for centuries, your children have woefully
suffered inhumane atrocities at the blades by the foreign
bloodthirsty invaders of a cruel sovereign
belonging to another faith;
It'll surely be quite the endearing tale
for generations to come - about your resilient children, your fragile
picturesque plains, your majestic mountains,
your tranquil babbling rivers and freshwater luscious
lakes; truly, you are beautifully precious.
Purposefully self-invited into your home
with a sadistic mission
in seeking our conforming submission
with terrible violent punishments,
taking unrelenting joy in pouring substantial bloodshed.

With a gun and knife in each hand
they have never surrendered to stand
stood their ground, defended thee against every stranger
at fight's end, even death will be a delight, instead to suffer
the enslaved life. Inspiration was kept in secrecy, they were brazen,
and beheld and attained your lush lands again mother; our safe haven
you are once more. Our pride, culture and language will eternally sustained and will forever remain.
The lives of our fallen heroes will be in the hearts of all, for we'll prevail;
may the legendary and prominent mysterious
howl of the Rhodope mountains boisterously
echo, so precious the sound be indeed, our souls loudly
cried with strength. Our self-belief to liberate thee paved
the road to freedom. Those life-giving heroes never caved.

Our long-since-gone children, formed bands
of freedom-desiring rebels of all ages who've endangered
their own lives, so that our motherland wasn't demolished.
Defeated this monstrous ruling sovereign -
retook all that was overrun; this fight, for them to be victorious;
promised to God, but more importantly to their families
and it's sanctioned by the unconditional love for the motherland. The glorious heroics to liberate, you, our precious
mother ended in triumph and living freely reinteratively hitherto as the spacious sky itself. And future generations will give their lives to save you, sweet mother, as our forefathers once did, until they lay dead - resting peacefully in the precious ground of thine.

No longer shall your enemy rule over you mother.
We, your children, will never again live in danger;
overwhelming happiness shines - we've succeeded
in denying our oppressors to vanquish us - for they were devastated.
Our courage, undying will and strength is a sentiment
of achieving victory; the heroes' tales are indeed a true testament
of love for you mother and amongst our brothers and sisters
to the generations of beyond - knowing our blood and bones contains
the desire not to live under another. Truly a glorious
unforgotten admiration. If again, invaders seek to conquer, let our
strength fly into the souls of your new eventual defenders
instilling the unconquerable strength of our forefathers.
So, goodnight dear mother, as I must go to rest, to no longer dread.

Submitted: Sunday, March 03, 2013
Edited: Saturday, August 31, 2013

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Poet's Notes about The Poem

In honour of the Bulgarian Independence Day.

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