Poems by Mina Krasteva

Επιμέλεια: Εύα Πετροπούλου Λιανού

Επιμέλεια από τη βουλγαρική γλώσσα: Rozalia Alexandrova

Mina Krasteva lives and works in Burgas, Bulgaria.
She is the author of books of poetry and prose. She is a member of the Union of Bulgarian Writers and the Burgas Writers’ Community Association. Her works have been translated into French, Russian, Croatian, Arabic, Turkish and Serbian languages and have been included in a number of anthologies and almanacs. She has published in literary magazines and newspapers.
Her novels “Shattered Hopes” and “The Construction” are part of the book collection of the Library of Congress in Washington.
Published books: “Memory with the sea” – poetry, 1999 “An exciting story of true friendships and dangerous betrayals…” – play-fairy tale, children’s book, 1999; “Sun in hair” – poetry, 2008; “In the corner of the cafe “Reality” – stories, 2013; “Shattered Hopes” – novel, 2015; “In the desert of the world” – poetry, 2018; “Traces” – poetry, 2021 and other.

Mina Krusteva, poems in English

We are looking for shelter
in each other
in the moments stolen,
in long forgotten words.
Frozen and thirsty,
we are looking for shelter,
without which
the world is just
a rotten apple.
We are looking for shelter
and we find it
in the shiny beam of light
which is dazzling our eyes
and turns us into blind people
who use their finger tips
to read the message for happiness
in Braille alphabet
of our bodies.

When you believe in wonders
the world smells of stamens,
the sap of life trickles down its stalk
and the rain is silver.
When you believe in wonders
your day swings from a sun beam
turned into a swing set,
the sunsets taste of honey,
the Moon – it envies you.
When you believe in wonders…
The hard thing is
to start believing.

After my father’s death
I cannot write poems,
music makes me sad,
and the rainbow seems artificial.
After my father’s death
I cannot understand the songs of the birds,
there is no one to explain
whose song to which bird belongs.
After my father’s death
I don’t like honey and walnuts
I miss the caring voice which told me:
“Taste it, my little one,
it’s the elixir of Gods”
After my father’s death
time hasn’t stopped flowing
slowly and imperturbably.
However, it has been divided into two…
before and after his death.

You cannot be sad, when in Burgas
its streets will noisily embrace you
and “Bogoridi” will shower you with its laughter
and dance with you until sunrise
leading you to the beach with its colorful umbrellas,
to the pier with its sunny bicycles,
to seaside taverns with their
tasty smell of fish
and anticipation for dates.

The waves will chase your silences
with the monotony and harmony of their singing
(sometimes interrupted by the shriek of a seagull
or by the gentleness of a sigh).
You will discover in the sand
the tracks of people in love
or those, who are lonely
and you will be one of them.
The choice is yours
and the forgotten sadness is yours, too…
You cannot be sad, when in Burgas,
but far from it – for sure.