Reverse Waterfall

 
I.

The Iceberg

Occasionally birds alight upon it; enormous
fish draw their torsos near, next move away.
The surface line defines the parts distinctly –
the light one, presented in a polar world of night and day,
and then the dark, immensely bigger one, ushered
in the night.
From side, the body as a whole seems onesame
in both worlds, its non-segmented forms
imply resemblance in perception – as though
each part cognizes with the surface of the other
and all the signs upon it echo in response
to the opposing part. Yet no!
As soon the Essence nears, the notions staunchly
disunite,
as if it passes through and scatters them apart.
Sensing its surrounding contours, them alone
each part discovers. In the looking-glass emerges
only half the Being, the other half –
being so close to appearing within the frame,
unavoidably remains beyond, unreadable; throbs muffled,
humbly manifesting its existence.
And nothing
links the halves together, except the line
dividing them.

While melting.


 II.

***

A few raindrops on your neck
and from the Universe there's only left
the light,
flickering within them.


III.

***

Now it is late.
Even the water in my shoe
fails to piss me off.


***

So many death-convenient
places for living.
The tea is getting cold.

tr. by Hristianna


***

The flame which burns the scrolls away
illumines me no more.
It feels as though the mirror passed me through the face.


***

A sip of gin
and the indifference already has a flavour.


***

What do you embrace –
the echo of the fallen rock or
the emptiness it’s filled so far?


***

How cold it is!
My body’s what has only left to me.


***

Darkness ripens like a fruit
in which the light decays.


***

Your fingers touch the pages lightly
as if they would deliver. They
extract the words as blind as new-born little puppies.


***

The sky is horizontal.
And the tree intersects it
like a scream.


***

WHAT AM I SUPPOSED TO BLESS?
Strength I never found in anything –
through blood I felt, my mind in turmoil quivered –
a presentiment of essence was it all.
What am I supposed to bless?
No God, no meaning –
I never felt the passion of belief
nor the manliness of unbelief –
all was a presentiment that wore an old man’s face
and bore an infant’s breath.


***

There blows an ancient wind foreboding
storm and rain.
The night’s suspended in the air.
Again unknown, unwelcoming again
the world appears.
The reason dreams of
its sacred mother’s essence.


***

With reason hardly peeping out its fleshly cell
the human was a gaol unguarded once, so that
infinity traversed him freely. Like a mantle
spread among the stars above, unbound he used to offer up himself
but ever he remained a whole, or when the Cosmos filled him over
he remained complete again, forever shining
bright within this undisturbed togetherness.
But reason stirred somewhat and rose, the human
sank, recoiling from the Cosmos, deeply in himself.
Jesus was betrayed to suffer death
whereupon the human shrank away still more.
Having lost his primal, old support
he reeled, increasingly diverging from the centre,
bent in two as though in pain. (He raised his eyes but didn’t see
the Cosmos,
then he looked inside himself but didn’t see his self at all.)
So as to keep his balance
he shoved the heaven’s burden off his shoulders,
leaning down to find support in someone else’s leaning
essence.
Thus,
before the threshold of this new togetherness death found
a sheaf
and not a single stalk.

tr. by Peyo Karpuzov