(1) Embrace tiger, return to mountain

Rolling savannah, a snow-capped peak,
In the midst a garden – lush lawns and a lake
.

Suddenly into the garden there leaps
A snow-lion – he has burst his ropes.

There is screaming and panic. The lion roars,
Shakes his huge head and lifts great paws:

The world is changed! The lion’s eyes shine.
A moment of fire – and the lion is gone.

Everyone shudders at what they have seen,
But I must weep for what might have been.

(2) The road to Assenovgrad

Assenovgrad is a small town in the Rhodope  Mountains,
about twenty kilometres from Plovdiv, Bulgaria. The stress in
“Assenovgrad” is on the second syllable – AssENovgrad.

I am in Plovdiv, city of Thrace.
In the autumn sun the plain lies baked.

We’re having a demo. We have to march
To Assenovgrad. No-one’s in charge,

The banners waver, the poles are bowed,
Black on orange, the words are blurred.

Already evening is darkening the sky:
“This way!” I cry. “This is the way

To Assenovgrad!” The people mill
And fall in behind. Too late I recall,

As a band raggedly starts to play,
Assenovgrad lies quite another way.