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I WONDER, when you moan
In the nook of your loneliness,
Feeble;

I wonder, when the turning motion
Of yesterday's thoughts,
Wipes out even the last trace of mind contour;

I wonder, when countless times you ask yourself
WHY impetus escapes the comfort
Of the gravity;

I wonder, when no one hears
The frozen scream behind the look...

I wonder, whether THEN the consolation shows up
In the complete appearance of a child's photo?

May 19, 1993

© Maya Kisyova
© Vessela Rangelova, translated
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© E-magazine LiterNet, 07.10.2006, № 10 (83)