HRISTO FOTEV To Nedyalko Yordanov On the train which was taking me slowly to Bourgas I was having a dream: I, myself, on the beach, raindrops falling mixing words in the strangest landscape ever seen. My whole essence is there - I forget there that it's me who is fleeting and bad. In Bourgas, sea-gulls make me aware Of the world, just by shrieking aloud. I die there of fury and longing /I was thought of a hero to be/ Sea-gull's voice, sea-gull's shriek that is calling- What a shocking remembrance of me Translated by Zhivka Ivanova