Wasted years

Wasted years of his hopeless,
among wild parties and discos
occluded cafes and pubs --
they were my home.


Day and night,
noon and sunset,
I stood there I ate and drank.
Trovih his soul with cigarette smoke and alcohol.


Morning as I wake,
cold beer in my hand I take a warm,
I drink a sip of her older
and so on, until the evening.


Life me so desperate
wasted every day
no sunrise or sunset,
I can not see through these wasted years.

On the corner

On the corner stands a lonely old man
and its good he counted legible;
worn suitcases and antiques for sale there
to be wandering passers-by.

Znoya one summer, there on the corner
old antiques sold countless,
among the noise and dust of the busy city
inexorably old man standing there.

And mine znoya of summer
winter frost all out
but the old merchant --
Bone smrazi it.

And this is his life miserable,
not bring him to grief corner
but love and kindness
to the golden hope
for new and new acquaintances.

Flattery

I love your gentle caresses,
I love your passionate breath,
I like talking softly
and quiet to the ear.

Your voice angelic,
incite passion in me,
and they throw me
in your tender embrace.


And when it ended up there ...
What bliss feel,
Having a passionate kiss me
sweet and caressing me.

Мajcho

Oh, majcho Bulgarian,
How did you hear bagpipes playing
Rhodope in dark forests,
how sound and vocal --
drives sheep flocks.

Sycamore old
there HAIDUSHKATA edge meadow
tvojta keep track,
Song of the bagpipers
gigantic and green forests.

Rodopi majcho ... Rodopa!
One song away,
there one bagpipe playing
and you remember the heart,
unforgettable one old tyranny.

She was lying here five centuries,
tuck your songs
thy holy and glorious Bulgarian heroes.
Majcho but you do not forget
remember black and sizes combined ages.

Centuries in which you have not heard the song
did not hear ringing voice of the pipes,
but de rifles cracked in Batak.
Villages ... monasteries and churches are burning ...
... mothers and children - screaming and crying!

Oh, majcho ... iunashka dear,
God bless you,
that you edniyaka us to retain
protectable and loved.

Love

Love is the meaning of life. Beginning and end of a mortal soul. the artist she is "a symbol of the countless sacheneniya, novels, prose, art. For readers - it is a fire that must be controlled because if you love out of control, they izpepeli like wildfire, which can be controlled. Therefore it must be skillfully combined with feelings, humility, pride. When the fore, however, did not immediately throw in his arms, and although she captured and the first pa Know it and then devoted himself with all his heart and soul.

Love is like a prison, because once that is distinguished or entered into lonnoto and can not easily break away from it. Iron shackles of the hands, feet and heart, day and night as the stones weigh.
Among the biggest embezzlement have people who skillfully combine endearments of love with favors free life. Should not indulge, to ride the tide of love, but must be free to live and die.