Zdravka Momcheva

These simple things

A LETTER TO MY MEMORY ECHO Cold fire place in my old house, do you remember my dead generation? I’m here again, calm like a mouse ­ shy womangirl ­ too young and ancient. Nobody knows how long shall I live. Somebody counts my minutes and seconds. Poor and rich I’m able to give bit of my soul to my memory echo

THE NATURE OF FRIENDS /To Eamon and Proinnsias O’Braonain/ The real friends are coins lost in ashes. They never flash in noisy colored crowd. They whisper words like velvet, gentle touches... They come to calm your gray and lonely shout. Like fairy treasure real friends are hidden. They know the only way is way of pain. They’ll come some day and you will be forgiven and free and stormy like a summer rain.

I’M EVERY WOMAN Every woman is Mother Maria, ready to sacrifice herself again, ending the day with a bright silver tear, Mother Maria ­ an ocean of pain. Every woman is Marie-Magdalina, washing with hair the legs of her God, crying again after trecherous dinner, Marie-Magdalina ­ the only one road. I’m every woman ­ sinful and holy. Unpredicted fire, unexpected rain. I’m waiting for you after deceitful glory ­ the only one woman again and again...

DANCING IN THE FIRE A Fire-woman dancing in the fire. Her bloody shout is a rising phoenix-bird. Her hot red steps are flowers of desire, her heart throbs are waking up the world. An archetypal rhythm ­ voice of sorrow ­ is cutting cruelly the black-dressed windy night. A Fire-woman, burning for tomorrow ­ a blossomed magic for rebirth and fight.