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THE FALL IS COMING, THE FALL IS COMING, MY BELOVED
The rustling living gardens are thinner,
The night’s become deaf, and the day is low.
And it smells of cold and golden-brown.
The weather’s become somewhat deep and brief.
And we’re only a hop away, but what is to find beyond?
Will autumn tell us? Doesn’t it know either?
Keep me, my beloved, in this corner room,
From it I could see both the rain and the sea,
And the dashing packs of fish, and it was raining comets.
(They were flying for a moment only, bright and strong.)
Keep me for them and for everything, my beloved.
And what remains in our eyes of winter,
In the memory of the souls with no seasons, no names,
What remains of a wound, of autumn,
Of the poplars that fall, from the bodies that float
(Of our bodies warm, last and innocent),
Keep it for all. And for Her, my beloved.
© Rada Aleksandrova
© Youliana Todorova - translated from bulgarian
© E-magazine LiterNet, 21.04.2020, № 4 (245)