PETYO PEYCHEV CLOUDS AT SUNSET And out of a sudden you see your life as a concave country scene in different seasons or at different hours of the day … Your life- a piece of land wedged between the horizons, a province over which the clouds still condescend to pass. And they slide heavy with tinges of crimson, the slide with the heavy caress of the ruler, his body grows over and over, echoes in the generations…. Pass by the ancient civilizations of the clouds and take away the forms of your secret existence and tear off the springs of your senses rank with thirst and leave you again lonely and unsheltered- a pray to the celestial scilence. NOSTALGIA Light crunching air, mild explosions along the adge of cognition. The wing of the airplane, viewed from inside, without hearing the roar of the engines, but knowing about its existence. The wing of the airplane with stitches and knittings against the backgroound of the miniature, unfolding down. Darkstoned houses With peaked roofs and ornaments, Muffled Gothic, absorption with basaltic roots. Nostalgia for the times When mentality had its tangible dwelling. The trailing nostalgia That gives your suffocating spirit Another precious gulp. Translated by the author