The poem below was inspired by this morning’s blast of thousands of tons of old ammunition stored near Sofia for the international wars of socialism against capitalism.
This blast, another discrepancy clearing itself away, is leaving behind issues of ecological and coordination nature which, if added to previous problems and seen as preceding next ones, will clear the valley of Sofia for its future enlargement, and will make everybody’s heart beat with gratitude for each lived safely day.
The ammunition blast comes at the time when the idea of referendums is trying to introduce some plain order between the elections organized on the party principle and the elections organized on the individuality principle, in a pyramid which began with everybody voting for the state’s single candidates, then for the candidates chosen and substituted at leisure by the numerous parties, now directly up to candidates of broader world contacts, prepared to act individually, and the referendums will have the base and the top, allowing half of the voters to feel responsible for having chosen one alternative, and the other half feeling responsible for failing to outnumber and choose an opposite option.
Still Unborn
Between the sunset films and dawn’s blast of stored ammunition,
the night was summer heavy and was ordinarily intense
The films upon the TV screen attracted with adorned life fiction
The sunset quietly retrieved its spilled into a patch round blaze
Between the sunset films and dawn’s blast of stored ammunition,
the night was summer heavy and was ordinarily intense
The blast alarmed the shaken homes, shattering the day into uncertain action
The armament, so long concealed, vacated a reserved for real life place
If someone asks how old I am, counted in nights intensive,
in films at sunset watched, in blasts confused with cheering the dawn,
I’ll say that, counted for singularity, all years in my life reflected
say I am sixty, but if seen as one whole life, I’m still unborn
V.P.T. 3.07.2008
