At the beginning of the winter, Svetoslav Ivanov [read an ebook week .txt] 📗

I will be looking for him…

It will be snowing hard, the icicles will jingle.
Frozen in snowy garments
big trees will embrace
lurking in the branches
small grey birds.
Frozen, trembling and hungry.
A red-chicked boy will come…
He will be feeding them from his hand.
he will run forward or… will return.
The years are rolling -
the sparkles of beads,
has the boy grown up?
Has the time passed?
Given away the crumbs of the heart
with a lot of love…
The crows pecked with no pity.
I see him today
in the cracked bench.
He reaches out arms… looking for birds.
I walk along the sunny path,
the snow is creaking…
every step is crying.
I’ll be looking for him
in the roadless path,
I know he is there…
waiting for me.
Even if he isn’t there,
I’ll ask
about him
the birds in the park.
I will be walking with no exhaustion
through snow-drifts,
I will be running without stopping
I will be falling down…
May the winter has mercy for me.
With my breath
I would like to heat your hands.


Breath Of Love

The sunset is scarlet.
Flocks of birds
perch
on the leafless branches.
Cold
and fog.
Moment.
Silence.
Behind the white veil
I touch your hand,
caressing
with a breath of love.


Winter

Snowflakes ...
Can you see how clean they are?
In the window they land,
then melt.
Snowflakes -
these are my thoughts.
Reach your hand to the glass.
There,
at this moment,
your eyes are reflecting.
Under the white birches,
still dressed in yellow,
along the boulevard
I can see you –
as white as morning snow ...
It has snowed in me.
And whisper of wind whispers.
A cup of coffee remains with me
to heat my hands.
The window is frosted by fog.
I smoke a cigarette.
And wait.
To see in the eyes:
- I love you!


As a snowflake in your skin

As a snowflake in your skin
I would like to arrival.
And become a drop.
I want to goose for a moment.
Then, let me slip,
as a caress,
between your breasts.
I will dwell among the hips.
And my lips to drink
drops of rain.
You smell of hot spring water
in which, fairies bathe.


Clean. White

I leave white steps behind me.
It rains. And the wind is snowy.
Trees dressed in white shirts,
like virgins to river.
And champ happy from every step.
I walk. And breathe in white.
Snow, if touched with my fingers
will melt. And the cloud of steam,
will reel in the sky. Clean. White.


It’s so white outside

It's so white outside,
that my eyes dream of yours.
I want to sink in the palette
of hot picture.
Where, land birds
in snowy hands.
And tell me about the summer.


In the cold night

In the cold night
in the snow,
street is crying outside.
Wet as an orphan.
Are you warm?
I do not sleep.
I count steps of glacial drop
wandering in the window.
Pale traces
twisting,
seeking,
probably my palm.
And my hand is empty.
Anxious, sleep elude
the warmth of my bag.
And I think of you ...
As pigeons
I send you heat in a swarm.
Fatherless wiped his eyes,
and looked trustingly in your hands.


Clean and white ...

Clean and white ...
Snow noise
in my hair, like a bird
flew with snow wings
trustingly to my shoulder.
Remains unknown world.
Passers-by dressed in gray,
behind. And I breathe sadness.
I'd like to see their eyes.
Stop them. To stand on the corner.
I have a lot to tell about.
And under the lights, the snow to rain,
and our coats, let them be white.
Birds landing in puddles.
And their feathers become brown.


When you kissed me

When you kissed me under the stars
the moon left speechless. And became white.
Wind was rustling through me
and I-transparent, such as air
touched the darkness with hands.
Your hair smells of spring
although it was winter white.


Quiet rain ...

Quiet rain ...
Among the yellow lamps
snowflakes fly
(butterflies in flocks).
Milk-blue is the gentle night.
The Boulevard is quiet.
And shine.
On trees, old branches
embraced under the snow.
Quiet rain ..


White feathers ..

White feathers ..
Snowy silence.
Steps left
in a white shroud
shadows of directions.
Wind only
branches swings.
Snowy silence.


You are white as snow ...

You are white as snow ...
Perched snowflakes.
Your body - pearly shine.
With hands I sprinkle frosted branches.
Snow powder. Rays.
With lips like sunshine
shell drop. Silver, without shame.
Let
like wind to penetrate
in snowdrifts. And they melt.


Cold sky

Cold sky
now is full of birds.
Black crows fly in flocks
over frosted and dead wires
of poles. Snow fly.
Swell,
squawk,
land
on roofs, buried in snow.
Ice edge, blank station
stands
famished beggar with a violin.
Silent violin.
And pile up snow in white strings.
Hands
blue hands
this old man
are home to the winds.
Cold thoughts. Dark bystanders.
The street - ice
waving their sharp claws.
It will snow. And the violin
will die over the empty dish.
My penny became pale
under the fingers of the icy winter.


Before the winter comes

If on the threshold a moment before the one winter
to cover for last my hair in white
and ice wind to shrink my lips
I can still find you? ...
To be still breathless, to buy you a flower ...
And there - in the rain to stop to wait
and see floral umbrella and you must hurry ...
Under your steps the puddles to become colored
and I think I wet my hand into the palm ...
Then - in the rain, flowers will grow on the pavement
and rapid tram rails will be strings.
When you touch - like a harp,
ting will crumble your eyes, we will be so young ...
Even for a moment, even the day before winter comes.


Dancing leaves

Dancing leaves.
Autumn ball.
Soaking in tears
a dance floor.
With frozen fingers
old musician --
Wind plays for the guests.
The Last Waltz.
The last toast.
Spilled - champagne
from summer.
And with white dress
in The last waltz
slide
very slowly the winter.


Come, my dear!

Come, my dear! Sit by the window.
See how rain snow, and winter has arrived.
Without sense, the snow is covered and our hair.
Come to kiss your forehead - the time scratching
with nails on it, such as stone has become shaky.
Come, sit by me - by the window.
Eh, how it rains! ... We are both white
feel free to ... We are left alone.
You - a gentle and sad, I'm still sick.
Come, sit by me!
Lived winter.
There by the window, I'll catch your hand.
With your lips touch the snow in my hair.


On the boulevard of my verse

On the boulevard
of my verse
long ago
there is no
one.
Winter has arrived
probably.
Perhaps,
a requiem
of autumn leaves
sailed
flocks of birds.
I do not believe
in future seasons.
In snow
fields
on this sheet
I am freezing
forever.


In each October fall of the leaf

In each October fall of the leaf
we bury a bit of ourselves.
And this -