contribution by Viktorija Bogdanova
I hear the groanings of a warm mountain scent,
-solar flares casted through celestial pillars;
the windows, filled with forest, birds and clouds
are flowing under the wound,
as your beloved words do – far behind the eyelids.
While the letters create ceilings and floors of the in-between,
the breathing, the ease, the trembling of a cloud of condolences
are searching for the flight
upon your wings through an embroidered beauty,
upon your quiet longing,
upon your wholeness-unbuilt, unfinished.
The joyous cry of church bells
brings me back to your silence
-warm, mild, melodious.
Each truth woven by the forest’s whisper,
as a beautiful line, as a river of glass,
resurrects each pebble, each grain of the sleeping land,
as whiteness of royal jelly poured over subterranean dark,
stronger one, lighter one, warmer one,
enlivened upon spiritual flames,
melted, dissolved through sweetness.
All the shades of green, hanging on the ceiling,
on the sky, on an assembage of heart seals,
give birth to a grace of bright, spontaneous salida**,
give birth to a gate, partly open, unfinished,
give birth to a rain of prayers, and silent foldings;
the solar reflections
coming from the mirror peaks of the forest,
springing from the intangible church shells
are painfully cruel in their beauty
without your dance,
without your floating sighs,
and bitterly painful is every drop of life,
inhaled without your whisper.
“St. Joakim Osogovski” Monastery, Kriva Palanka
* The Absent, Astor Piazzolla
** Spanish: salir – to exit; to go out: The first steps of dancing a tango, or a tango pattern, derived from “Salimos a bailar?” (Shall we go out to the dance floor and dance?).