Peyo Yavorov Poems

The guilt is not in you, I'm from another world.
A child of dusty dreams, your mother is the earth.
You are not to be blamed for what were my desires -
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My soul is grief. My soul is call
Because I am a bird picked off.
To death is doomed my wounded soul -
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I do not live: I burn. In acrimony raging
Two souls are dueling within my breast:
The soul of a devil, the soul of an angel.
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The broken leaf … God knows where
The wind will wrench.
Just as the orphan
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Of dreary night the hour. I watch contoured
two dreary shadows: there, behind a curtain white,
the lamp is burning, in a field of light,
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Wretched exiles, rare survivors
Of a brave and martyr race
Children of a captive mother
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Two lovely eyes. The spirit of a child.
Two lovely eyes. Sunrays and music.
They don't want anything and they don't vow.
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