• Язык:
    Болгарский (Български)

Портрет на мъж

Портрет мужчины

Очите му — подземни езера са,
Палати, изоставени от царя.
Със знака на позора е белязан,
За Бог той дума не отваря.

А устните му пурпурна са рана
От острие, просмукано с отрова,
Печални и затворили се рано,
Зоват към наслаждение ново.

Ръцете бледи - мрамор пълнолунен,
Тежат им неизкупени проклятия,
С момичета-магьосници палували,
Познават кървави разпятия.

И странен е вековният му жребий —
Бленуван от убийци и поети,
Дали не е белязан по рождение
В небето с кървава комета.

В душата му стаени са обиди,
Безименна е мъката нетленна.
Не сменя за Мадона и Киприда
Той спомените си безценни.

Злобее, но не е безбожник сприхав,
И хубава е нежната му кожа,
Той може да се смее и усмихва
Ала… да плаче повече не може.

Другие переводы:

А вот еще:

With all your empty words’ addresses...

With all your empty words’ addresses / The girl’s besotted and she’s bloomed, / For there she combs her golden tresses, / By festive mood she’s all-consumed. / Now summoned by the church bells ringing / For you she takes her prayer’s refrain. / The sun and s...

Of all the countless stars above...

Of all the countless stars above / I’ve chosen this, our world so gloomy. / And in this world I’ve come to love / Some cheerful pathways set before me. / / And when an unexpected grief / My soul in secret starts assailing, / I peer into sky’s cloudy reef / Until my...

By the fireplace

The shadows gathered... The fire dwindled, / Standing alone, he gazed through the window, / / Arms folded, eyes fixed on the distance, / He spoke of his sadness with bitter persistence: / / "I’ve entered the depths of the lands yet unknown, / My caravan moved eighty days in a...


Over the reeds of the tardy Nile, / Where only butterflies and birds / Are found, hides a forgotten tomb / Of a culpable but enchanting queen. / / The nightly mist carries its own deceit, / The moon rises, as a sinful siren, / A pale fog streaks through, / And from a cave, skulks a ...

The Sick Man

In my delirium, only the endlessness / Of some sharp lines plagues me, / And the bell incessantly tolls / As a clock, striking eternity. / / It seems to me, that after death it’s how, / With an agonising hope of resurrection, / The eyes get fixed on the surrounding murk, / See...


As a child, I liked big, / Honey-scented meadows, / Groves, dry grass, / And in the grass, bovine horns. / / Every wayside shrub shouted / To me: "I’m playing with you, / Pass me by carefully / And you shall know who I am!" / / Only the savage autumn wind, / Howling, wo...