His Home Town


A town embraced by earth’s hips and bosom,

neatly lain between the curves and sways of trees,

colorful under the heavy clouds,

brighter soaked in rain…

Welcomed me into its cold, yet reassuring hug.

When the sunshine drops through the sky’s rug

it glimmers and laughs, echoing over the mounts.

Loud… and silent when silence is required

wet… and dry when your feet get tired,

solemn… and cheerful when you are under.

Made for walking and gazing around

in hope to find a hidden beauty,

and you may discover it in

the places most unexpected.

A blue room with a view:

pastel coloured houses in a suburban style

keeping in line, with a wistful touch of a flower

and a pebble-stoned wall;

high-rising red giant signifies the towns eye,

watching over us, with many bright, yellow lights.

Sure, some simple communist communal buildings

spoil the glimmering show of colours,

but just around the corner… a bar.

Western style, wide-windowed and dyed

in blood-red, with gentle, yellow lights –

in a small town far away, in a Balkan, tough, unjustly ruled

state, where the folk are lied to, and the West would fight again,

farther East is a would-be friend; with untrusting neighbours,

small protests and silent cries, mind-numbing reality TV and illiterate news,

loving mothers and sons, pretty daughters and fun, honest grandmoms,

deceased and brave fathers and granddads,

soiled in blood of forgiven wars… in a small country that never forgets,

lies a little piece of Earthly Love – the town of Chaeven, a river and mounts…


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