Author Archives: Dilyana Hristova

Exits

Now I stand

where I once knelt.

And after every misstep I forge anew my shield.

 

There is so much more to be lived,

yet too much to be left behind.

Been trying to keep an open mind,

but the end of the rope makes one blind.

 

The night slips on the corner of your eye

and the cold makes you look wise.

But you made me what I am not

and the feel of the bottom I never forgot.

 

We build walls to create new places

and keep ourselves busy inside these empty spaces.

The truth has always beaten your aces

I’ll never be right where you want me, erase me.

 

December 2019

 

Aykut Aydoğdu

by Aykut Aydoğdu


Mea culpa

Many things have ended for me, I’m done. Things like fighting for what is right or trying to fight and win over my demons. Things like speaking in the correct tense and trying to find some sense. Many things have ended for me in the cold evenings and had begun again in the even colder mornings. Seasons have changed and I am below the lowest I had ever gotten. It ain’t right. I’ve held my head high and I’ve been down in the dirt, in the mud. My moods have varied so much that I have destroyed relations with people. I’ve written so many words that I can’t remember them all. I’ve read so many words yet the white paper is the most sincere thing that exists. I’ve heard so many words that I’ve stopped listening. I’ve cared so much that I’ve ruined my inner self. I’ve blamed so much that I am to blame. I’ve seen so little of the world yet it feels like too much. I’ve tasted the madness now I want the touch

 

of gold.

 

 

18th of October 2016

 

ca83ce624bace0431531c997a864456e


Stimuli

The only currency that people actually possess is time. Time, in the sense of our own, personal time we have to spend on the Planet. So it becomes of crucial importance whom and what do we spend our time on.

There is no refund for the time spent. There is no contract offered to loan more time in case ours becomes limited. And there is no guarantee that we won’t run out of time at any given point in our lives.

So, don’t tell me the time I spent on you and you spent on me has no value. It’s like investing all your money in building a house and then leaving it empty, leaving it to time to rot and destroy. It’s not even like renting it or leaving it to the homeless people to live in. It’s like absolutely wasting it, locking it, nailing the windows with wood and leaving it to decay.

The question of time always evokes questions about waste. So there are at least two stimuli in a person’s life – making good choices about time and avoid time waste. All else is a subject to negotiation. But time never is.

 

Stimuli

Source – Pinterest. Artist unknown.


A way to be

The morning light was yet demanding. There was a taste
in my mouth of something long gone. I did not know how
the story was supposed to go from now on, but the
morning light was demanding action. I really wanted to
refuse the world in those empty mornings but that was not
a way to be.
What amazed me was that nothing really mattered
anymore – failure or success, not even love. It had become
almost shameful to still be capable to love and fall in love in
those ugly days.
There is terrible ugliness in the world, but there is also
sublime beauty. Bottom line is, at least the world is
knowable. Sooner or later, closer to the hearth or at the end
of the earth, the world gets to everyone.

 

Oct 2017

 

 

 


On Truth

It is like an arena theatre – where everyone can see everything from all sides. We just close our eyes to what others have in mind. It’s easier. And we put it all on the side, for later. Like the leftovers of your dinner that you ask the waiter to pack you for home. And then you go home, and put it in the fridge, and forget that it’s there because you are eating in a different restaurant the next day. And you find the leftovers months later, when they are already rotten, and you throw them in the bin, because you are disgusted by the look and smell. That is the truth. That’s what we do to the truth. And even if you are not doing so, it wouldn’t matter. Even if you take the truth and hug it, and kiss it goodnight every night, it wouldn’t matter. It would kill you. It would take out its little dagger and scratch pieces out of your face every night when you are asleep until one day you wake up and you just don’t look the same anymore. Because you’ve accepted too much.

July 2016


We have an expiration date.

I’ve had the urge of the young writer to write about everything that had happened to me, instead of to write about what matters. I’ve been writing things to people, about people, for people, giving it to people to read, dedicating writings to people, posting it on social media without even realizing my own preaching – that words are not free. They cling to people, to hearts, to minds. I believed that was the only way to be true to oneself and to the world. But it is not. To be true means to find the truth in everything and say it, write it, shout it, if you will. Everything else is bragging about your own personal drama, which is not interesting anyways because everybody has got their own.

One might say that I am a lost little girl who does not know what she wants and probably will never know. To those I have nothing to say.

But one may also acquit me of my guilt and say that I am just trying to find out what the hell am I and what the hell have I, so I don’t rot before my actual expiration date. That I have actually grown up, of course with help from other s. To that person, or if I am lucky enough, those people, I owe much of what I have become and will become. All I can say is a mere thank you and give my love.

Yes, I believe we have an expiration date. It is all about how much from the world you can take. Some people die young and continue to live as empty bodies. Others die young but continue stronger than ever, however, with a changed form. But we do expire. The good thing is that we can do something about it afterwards.  But nobody can do it for us; everybody has their own battle to fight. And this fight goes until the real expiration date comes – the expiration date of the body in which you live in, the one that you cannot escape.

These are the first few meaningful sentences that I have written in months and they sound like a damned confession of somebody who has been away for too long. I am too young to have been away for too long. And I am too young to know anything whatsoever. I can only guess what it all means; and guessing has always been fun. It’s almost like gambling with life and not knowing if you’ll get the poor hand or not.

 

                                           17th of January 2017


right where

In any case, for me being published means being in excruciating pain and saying it out loud. Тhat is a form of bravery in my world. It was never about the possible popularity or the attention of my acquaintances, or the questions everyone would start to ask. It was about being able to communicate all the things that had happened, all the things that I am.

                  August 2015

 


Poetry collection

So, my first poetry collection is coming to life. This is for all the sufferings and calamities of personality that I have seen for my 20 years on our beloved Planet Earth.

It is available to purchase from Janus Publishing website, I attach the link below. I also want to thank endlessly Janus for the patience and help.

The collection will appear on amazon on the 24th of August 2015.

If you find my words compelling, let your attention stay fit. I am preparing a second collection in those unfair times of ours.

cover by Sophia Platts-Palmer

cover by Sophia Platts-Palmer

Black Words

(click)


The Grind Contribution

The Spirit of Revolt appears in Issue V of the amazing Grind. You can check it out here:

http://the-grind.co.uk/issuev

Issue V Poster

Issue V Poster

https://www.facebook.com/TheGrindJournal


In any case

It’s not really about the ground or the neutral state of consciousness of the mob. In any case many people spend most of their lives thinking about nothing in particular and talking about the same. Many people spend most of their lives imitating love and ignoring the same. Trading love for attention or need and chasing away the same. Care and attention wear the mask of love just like beauty wears the mask of wreck. Love is above. Don’t dirty it with casual words, or imitated feelings and actions. Love is above, don’t lower it to complications. Love is simple.

He, in particular, was always talking about some truths that I had not yet discovered, about some things that it would take me months to realize. Sometimes I was thinking that even he didn’t realize what was he doing. It was just so natural for him to spread truth around.

He, particularly, designed his words with the purest of fire. No matter right or wrong, they were pure. My poetry started loosing its meaning and that was a perfect sign for me of my existential collapse. He could not be compared to anything I ever needed to beware. I was ready to give him every piece of my share, just wanted him to meet me there – where every sound was heard loudly and every word spoken bravely.

I tried evoking love to come to him. He was empty though. Empty but not in the ordinary sense of emptiness. He was empty like a hollow guitar that resonated every sound, he resonated every truth, every sense. So I became part of him, of his insights. Wholeness. Now, we just needed to entail love in that space of ours.

He was empty in another sense as well. He was emptied. Emptied by people who didn’t talk about anything in particular, by people who took words for granted, by people who used actions as weapons, and not as representation of feelings.

I was mad at that, furious at those people. I wanted his hollowness to be filled with the sounds of love.

April 2015