In the first hours of the morning

Image by Ognyan Lazarov

In the first hours of the morning,

I still love him,

even under the thick cover of charcoal

from my broken heart.

The beautiful moments together

are stubbornly keeping their faces unchanged,

no matter how many times

I run the wash cloth over them

and wish they will fade away

and become debris in the pile of old flames.

In the first hours of the morning

my head is buried in pillows,

aching to start another day.

Maybe today I will pack my belongings

and befriend the image of a girl

wearing worn-out jeans and a tattered sweater,

walking through the streets of an unfamiliar city…

In the first hours of the morning

It's time for another travel,

another adventure,

another bite at my soul.

---

Please note: All articles and photographs contained here are property of © Gypsy Letters, 2014 unless otherwise noted. No part of this website may be reproduced without the explicit permission of the copyright holder.

The Old Photographs

- “What’s with this fascination to look for old pictures?”

- “I don’t know… Тhey tell a story. They speak about change, progress, the fact that everything passes through time…. People often forget about it and waste their given time.

Photographs remind me that one day I’ll be gone too and there won’t be much left - maybe a shirt with the smell of my perfume, and a worn-out photograph with my face glued to the piece of glossy paper.

I hope my story will inspire someone the way these black & white photographs inspire me, even if there are nothing more but memories from a banal existence...

Have you ever thought of everything that time sets in flames?

Have you thought of what it builds from the ashes?“

The Theater Group of Nevrokop, Bulgaria (1929)

---

Please note: All articles and photographs contained here are property of © Gypsy Letters, 2014 unless otherwise noted. No part of this website may be reproduced without the explicit permission of the copyright holder.

Strangers

When you were a stranger to me,

you were never fully yourself,

yet you could tell me about your whole world.

When I felt like a stranger to you,

I was stripped of a name

and I didn't carry my wounds,

my incompleteness,

my shortcomings.

When we were strangers to each other,

laugh came uneasy,

we still wrapped everything we said in it

to build a bridge between us,

so you can knock on the walls of my fears,

and I can pick the locks of your emotional vaults

---

Please note: All articles and photographs contained here are property of © Gypsy Letters, 2014 unless otherwise noted. No part of this website may be reproduced without the explicit permission of the copyright holder.

Snow & Earth

The Snow arrived like an unexpected lover,

he kissed the Earth and gave her a white dress,

she tried it on and her reflection froze in the mirror.

“Shall we dance?” she asked, while the snowflakes were falling on her lap.

And they began dancing through the quiet whisper of the wind,

messing with the hair of the trees,

knocking on crooked roofs

painting windows with frosty spiderwebs.

Tired and swept away by the adventure, the Earth fell asleep,

dropping the soft ruffles of her dress on the sleepy faces of her dwellers.

Like shy kittens, they crawled out of the houses.

Curious footsteps wrinkled the gown,

playful paws dug into the white cotton threads,

sleighs cut the silhouette in pieces,

and the Earth was naked again,

but still asleep,

she was dreaming of Snow 

and their dance together.

Picture by Ognyan Lazarov

---

Please note: All articles and photographs contained here are property of © Gypsy Letters, 2014 unless otherwise noted. No part of this website may be reproduced without the explicit permission of the copyright holder.

January 1st

Picture by Blagovesta Markova

The 1st day of the year is always drunk on promise.

It lets hangover catch you,

and fills your wanting heart with resolutions.

Be bold when you stride towards your desires,

be kind to yourself even when you fail,

and try again.

Small steps

matter.

---

Please note: All articles and photographs contained here are property of © Gypsy Letters, 2014 unless otherwise noted. No part of this website may be reproduced without the explicit permission of the copyright holder.

What are you looking for?

Before you ask me who I am,

ask yourself if you know who you are.

Are you chasing the crowd

that is the loudest,

or the smile that is the prettiest?

Have you come here to seek distraction

or find plenty of noise

so you hear yourself?

The View of 2 Bridges (Manhattan & Brooklyn Bridge)

---

Please note: All articles and photographs contained here are property of © Gypsy Letters, 2014 unless otherwise noted. No part of this website may be reproduced without the explicit permission of the copyright holder.

Sunsets

Sunset upon sunset I wonder,

Why do we chase the fiery ball

till it burns out with a hissing sound beyond the horizon?

Where else do we admire the end of things so much?

The death of a day bursts into colours

and rarely do we think about the pain

the light must go through to come to this.

After giving life and purpose to so many creatures on this earth and

slowly giving itself into a sheath of dark mystery - who mourns its

farewell?

We don't relate to a sunset with pain,

but with love, yearning and mostly hope

that we will be given another day and another perfect sunset and

another tomorrow of dazzling life.

Sunset upon sunset I wonder,

If the death of a day can bring us love and hope,

when something dear to us dies

and we are drowning in sorrow -

Can we learn to see more sunsets in it?

Sunset in Rio Vermehlo, Salvador (BR)

---

Please note: All articles and photographs contained here are property of © Gypsy Letters, 2014 unless otherwise noted. No part of this website may be reproduced without the explicit permission of the copyright holder.