It Is Evening Now


It is evening now.

And somehow light is not enough.

On the table with the white cloth

the darkness traces out.

But still – not –


Arms to the wrist.

And round bread.

It is evening now.

And it is far.

Your home – there’s none

to enter.

Translated by Vessislava Savova

Bozhidar Pangelov was born in Sofia, Bulgaria, where he still lives and works. He is the author of four poetry books, written and published in Bulgarian. Some of his poems have been translated into Italian, German, Polish and English, and published in anthologies, in periodicals and on poetry sites all over the world. He was a participant in the German 2010 poetry project Europa ein Gedicht. Bozhidar's blog is here.

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