Manhatan bridge in Plovdiv

In the morning she crawled from the Balkans
a fog stopped in front of my window,
he peered into my soul and stayed
uninvited, wet and evil.
He sank into gray indifference
as if everything in the world.
And I stayed at the bottom,
of this opaque grayness.
It's cold. And nothing can be seen.
My heavy shoulders hurt.
.in this formless, infinite nothing
only the gray silence screams.
The fog triumphs
above my thoughts, senses.
I'm not afraid. I know he's pretending.
As soon as the wind blows, he raises his sails.

© Minochka Miteva .

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