23 June 2019

Bombs that can be assembled in three hours, a poem by Zhivka Baltadzhieva

that don't decompose in a thousand years,
financial turbulence and scientific advances that end with rats,
mosquitoes, wolves, magpies, bees, minority languages

and the human being.

Tides, earthquakes, skies of cold tonality,
molten nuclear reactors, Fukushima rudimentary particles
and Chernobyl nightingales,
anguish. Slate slabs shine and screens
are portable offices
that elevate global warming and radiation.

The white house of far days
with its old-fashioned trimmings on doors and windows,
yellow or indigo, which drive away evil spirits and flies,
decompose and dilute with no trace
in the confusion of pollens, misery, greed and CO2.

From where slow grass and starry skies
for so many nameless, tearless tombstones?

Under the last almond tree
the seeds of patented words
by their power,
give sterile transgenic plants

From Nogénesis.
© Zhivka Baltadzhieva

Zhivka Baltadzhieva

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