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Petya Georgieva, 46 years old, is participating in the 6th International Literary Creation Competition, from Sofia, Bulgaria. We are grateful for the participation and wish her success.

Destruction
The chains thunder
in the room full of clocks.
Time is ticking,
it measures loss of what we got.
The saw screeches,
cutting flesh and breaking air.
It buzzes and turns over
in hectic fever of the sorts.
And in the middle of this disarray I stand
meekly waiting
the destruction day after day.
Air burns,
absorbed by carbon dioxide.
And yet I stand
expecting nothing.
I`m merely a presence,
a witness,
dumb,
a voiceless letter, 
the last debris
from rootless trunks,
alloy of resignation.
I thank you now,
it was a pleasure.
Last dance with glow
and cool caress of ashes.
No pain to follow,
thanks Goodness,
I remain
a log,
a root,
a single seed,
and… nothing!


Prayer
I pray,
My knees are coarse with kneeling,
My fingers – bloody from the soil.
I pray,
My lips are parched from all the words forgotten,
And tongue swollen with morality, with norms.
I pray.
Why do I need all disgrace and all objection?
And all transgressions measuring my minutes?
I pray.
Who do I turn to with all my unvoiced reflection,
Lost in direction somewhere deep in my mind?
I pray
The only way my fingers know how 
To stroke the keys of the late forgiveness.
I pray,
Yesterday, today, and ten years later
When rain of mud and stones will fall over me.
I pray
So that the clouds of lead that house my doubts
Will wash all the sins, will turn into soldiers. 
I pray!
But I do it alone. No one is here.
I pray!
But what then? Nobody listens.
I pray!
Shallow the words, distorted the thoughts.
I pray!
The eyes so dried give birth to the courage.
I pray!
No, I`m done with prayers.
Time devoured all the love and the mercy.


(Un)tamed
Well, finally, here comes my glass
half-emptied of all its content.
It winks at me with crystal sparkle
reflecting all my transformations.

First comes a dress so precious,
the girl that wears it has reddish shoes.
The girl that danced away with witches
and ran unharnessed with the clouds.

I tamed the cobbled pavements later
with the staccato of my high-heels echo.
I fell into the lilac cuddles
and the war cry just before the fall-down.

I toured the world on horse and rocket.
I was a daughter, mother, I was love.
I filled my glass with so much promises
and all those light and flavoured pebbles. 

To hell with all the glasses, and the wine,
the saddle, stirrups, reins and bridle.
The fields expect the horses` clatter
and me, even if I`m emptied half away.