Peycho Kanev is the author of 4 poetry collections and two chapbooks, published in USA and Europe. He has won several European awards for his poetry and he’s nominated for the Pushcart Award and Best of the Net. His poems have appeared in many literary magazines, such as: Poetry Quarterly, Evergreen Review, Front Porch Review, Hawaii Review, Barrow Street, Sheepshead Review, Off the Coast, The Adirondack Review, Sierra Nevada Review, The Cleveland Review and many others.
After reading some
of the Russian classics
I fell asleep and dreamed
an illiterate dream.
woven into my DNA
circulates in the bloodstream.
Who else is there to blame
except the words?
The heart is silent
as a nun in the middle of prayer
and so is the mind.
But one day this calloused hand
will grab the pen so beautifully and--
the hammer and the sickle again.
This street is as lonely as it gets
and the same goes for the little girl
playing with dolls alone at the corner -
like a shadow in a dream -
between houses covered in twilight.
In this small and godforsaken town,
proud to have made the map,
in the middle of nowhere,
the sun is about to go down, but it sinks
so slowly, like a biscuit in a bucket of milk.
The grown ups are probably inside the houses
behind the drawn shades
or maybe in the graveyard
under the large stones
bloodied by the sunrise.
The night falls and everything disappears,
the houses, the prison, the hospital,
the school, the bar and the gas station
and even the small girl with her dolls
made of even deeper darkness.
The night is long and the stars
race to their deaths in the darkness.
A woman’s dress
and a man’s suit
walk past each other
on the street
devoid of humans.