Cinema

by Nikola Vaptsarov

There's a crowd at the door
where the floodlit posters
proudly
announce:
"A human Drama."
There's a crowd at the door
and the King's nickel horseman
sweats
in the pressure
of my pain.

On the square white screen
in the darkened hall
the Metro lion
sleepily yawns.
Suddenly a road
and a forest appear,
and above - the blue sky.
Expansive, clear.

Meeting at the bend
two sleek limousines
collide.
It's our hero
and heroine.

Promptly the gentleman
leaves his car,
picks up the woman
in though steel arms.
Slowly she opens
eyes that smoulder,
flutters her lashes
and skyward stares.
O what a beautiful
thoroughbred mare!

Nightingales, sure enough,
sing in the trees
where the peaceful azure
filters down through the leaves,
and yonder
the soft green meadow
allures.

Lustfully greasy
John kisses Greta.
Lascivious lips
start slobbering...
STOP IT!
Where is our fate here?
Where is the drama?
Where am I? Tell me!
Ready to shoot, the explosive time
presses a gun against our spine.

In our love,
in our grief
can we be so naive
with our chests full of smoke
and our lungs T.B.?

Do we meet
those we love
in a sleek
limousine?
Our love arises
at work -
amid smoke,
amid soot
and machines.
Then comes the grey life,
the struggle for bread,
the vague dreams -
every night in the cheap narrow bed
we barely perceptibly weaken and die.

That's how it is.
And there is the drama!
Everything else -
is a lie!