It Is Quiet

Image by Freepik

***

My steps are hushed with silence in their pace.

It is soft and sweet, so beautiful - with charm…

As delicate as a woman in her grace,

content to live with nothing her to harm.

Then suddenly are coming former sins - 

relentless, bitter, tempting… like heartbeat!

Behind a hundred walls the silence grins - 

intangible, yet stronger than concrete.

It makes no sound, but never really fades - 

it's moaning and nightmarish in my thoughts.

'Cause silence is neither a gun nor a blade,

but it kills slowly… The fires of the past

are dying lonesome, no oxygen at hand - 

and they are choking on everything unsaid.

It follows me across nine magical lands,

through roads once wandered and not bad.

It ever made me stumble, but today

why does it seem so truly gentle and light?

No words, no news, no echoes I do wait

nor do I seek a harmless reason to fight...

Now, in my steps, oblivion is spread - 

a sigh so soft that on my skin tiptoes.

The old sorrow has turned at last to ash.

And it is quiet, because I wished it so.

***

I wrote this poem first in my native language - Bulgarian.

Then, I decided to share it with my Medium friends and translate it into English creatively, not literally, because I wanted to keep as much as I could the inner meaning of the poem.

Sometimes we want to stay alone and enjoy the silence, no matter that before it was frightening and painful.

***

Thank you for reading.