In the wild and burning quietness
resounds a trumpet - lonely eye.

It opens wide the pupil - tenderness
before endearment of the apparent harm.

Among the shadows the bends
stretch desperately the faraway cry.
Among the sounds they scorch with diligence
the written words in rhyme.

And there - above the earth
ascends the spirit - a bespattered old precept.
But the dusty Gods catch up with him
and puddle fiercely new dirt.

ÓMarin Lazarov