For Svetlozar Jekov, again
The sun burns, broils – like a boil expanding
on the inflamed neck of the sky... Just be patient,
do not revolt and do not grieve, do not cherish ambition,
and do not expect the trumpets of angels to sound in your honor.
When did your strength run dry? Saddled early on with infirmities –
in the arena where God and the Devil fought it out ,
you suffer on alone! A salve for your wounds
and your rage were your only Job’s
lament... Never one to crawl, even when you were on your knees!
Be glad your spirit is still humble
and the lice have eaten their fill for now...
All you know for sure: you are naked
and the dry sunflower of your halo
has risen in the dung heap of this world.
Translated by Ann Diamond