Принц Папа Жан


/To Boiko Borisov, Prime Minister of Bulgaria/


/To Boiko Borisov, Prime Minister of Bulgaria/

Political reform
of old ways of thinking and new slogans
are now born in many minds
of today.
And yet we are still troubled…
We are oppressed by thoughts of the morrow.
And the knife is sharp
and bread tastes bitter.
Why should we go on living in this way?
Enlightened thinkers,
intellectuals, harness the energies of society.
The weight of the Living World…
But faith needs proof.
A the new will arrive with the Genius,
the Universal Sage
who is left to move the atom
towards peaceful shores.
O, glorious civilization!
Forget momentarily the pain,
the turmoil of this world
and demonstrate to people
that we need not be fighting each other.
Where do we start?
When will surcease come?
When we stop the bombs!
When we get rid of AIDS!
When human spite ceases to ridicule!

I will truly rejoice!
We’ll take a deep breath!
We’ll have decent lives!
And this sunny day of our daydreams
will arrive after much blood, sweat and tears
in constructive endeavour.
And then all little children
will unite in brotherhood
and universal sisterhood!!!

/To Boiko Borisov, Prime Minister of Bulgaria/

In this world I see a frenzied babble of words
and the splitting of atoms,
and wretched AIDS victims,
stretching out hands in search of help.
I am confused in a strange city,
carried away by a sullen crowd of my fellow-creatures,
hurried in their everyday lives.
A woman passes me by
with heavy make-up and blood-shot eyes…
So what? A strange beauty…
A black Mercedes drives past
with curtained windows concealing
a murky politician.
The air is pervaded by the stench of garbage.
One breathes heavily amidst the bustle
and bombs fall at night
making you scream…
“Stop that madness! Enough!
Where are you off to, man?”
But, of course, you can’t do that…
There is a lump in your throat,
suppressing your final shout
and you silently realize
that we all are on our way to outer space
in search of mercy and pity
at the hands of the Supreme Ruler of all worlds…
But he pays no attention
to our supplications and qualms.
He has been much glorified,
busy with his nuclear games.
But he is in a hurry…
To press the final button
taking advantage of our weakness
and put an end to all change.

/To all political leaders/

We destroyed a system built with blood and sweat
flags waved and hooves clattered.
A people conceived in an outlying corner of Bulgarian field.
The latest parody – a demolished mausoleum of folly…
In this sick temple art is dead.
We are longsuffering artists with the laurels of eternity.
Forgotten in dens, lonely and silent
we expect alms from God’s hand.
Artists swept by a political top crust.
We nibble at bread – the final inspiration.
What is left us is honour for the future generations.
We used to build eternity over flags
which we fed with our flesh.
We forgot Divine Law
and stood to be condemned.
We destroyed eternity and the flagpole collapsed
and we drenched flags in daydreams,
we killed the desired creativity in us,
and now live in misfortune.
Till yesterday – marble horses,
cast-iron postulates –
from this day – commercial freedom
between the red and the blue pirates,
individuality dies…
Where are you, DESIRED FREEDOM?!

/To my granddad Angel – god rest his soul /

Scaffoldings and coffins rise,
what is the difference between them now?
Over us hangs an atomic hand
wanting to embrace everything
What more does a man need?
A universal home in weeping constellations
or a little bread and a gulp of water
for his ever seeking soul.
and stricken dumb,
over the global guard at this hour
fanatical politicians race
to send their souls to an eternal world.
But all are stricken dumb and blinded,
final pain and subdued scream
for the error which is to be made today
and will not be recognized as such tomorrow.
But the billions keep pouring out regardless
to cover the dead sky with uranium.
Where are you, Geniuses?!
Or you, Human Reason?!
Where is your offspring hidden?!

To brother Petsi – a friend

My heart is a generator of destinies,
lost eyes,
quietened waves
of not beating
of hearts bored to beat any more,
of pulsations lost in solace.
Countless messages,
hopes smashed to bits,
wasted dawns,
wasted expressions
of what’s wasted in oblivion,
of thousands of lost paths,
of thousands of forgotten daydreams,
of thousands of invisible stars,
of thousands of shed tears…
My heart is the generator of destinies,
of forces, scattering in an abyss,
of passion, lost in vanity,
of youth getting old in the world,
of the candle’s last quivers,
of the drops of the savage elements
that have wasted the spring,
of the falling autumn leaves,
of all the forgotten summers,
of daydreams, frozen in ice.
My heart is a generator.
I will spend my power
to illumine the world!


A poem

The Earth split up and gave birth to a daughter.
And tongues of fire licked up the umbilical cord.
The new woman kissed the air;
water carried her through towards time
where the little queen,
having come to know love,
realized that she could love
and be loved;
that she can carress wildly
harnessing in poetry wild winds
and like a happy girl
could laugh with the voice of a child;
that she could be a wife,
that she could have several hearts,
that she could give birth and death
but her happiest moments were with me.
Not anyone could bear
so much happiness
and the poorer a man is,
the better he understands this…
And so, the rich queen,
when she met me failed to realize
she was a gift to the one she loves
from the split-up Earth…
They say I am a wanderer
but the wanderer was she;
and when I was far away
she flew still further.
Long did I cherish all sorts of hope
but in the end time, which
conquers all, got the better of them
as it does when love is lacking…

I hark back all the time without tears
though in sorrow
and – line by line – in verse I pour my disease.
And the daughter of the Earth
vanished without trace…
Now I’ve got ulcers from her kisses,
from tender words – black memory,
from love yearnings – loneliness,
countless withered flowers.
My atelier is empty when beauty brings no joy;
my soul is charred
and the memory of my delight
is the sole gift left to me.
She was born of the Earth,
caressed by sundry winds,
doomed to beauty;
she tried reaching out to me
but failed to connect…
And I – this time a prince, that, a wanderer –
watched people’s faces in scores of towns,
uniform and different in their tenderness,
in their proclivity to sin.
So I touched her never again.
I touch the white sheets of paper
and seem to have grown up in sorrow,
in the knowledge that my verse can move her again.

If her magic birth
has left a speck of flesh,
she’ll hear me from somewhere
and let her recall our love –
love which she’ll never again have
and – though a queen, she’ll live in loneliness –
and dies in grandeur
if there’s no one to bid her farewell with a tear.
And if you have left your beloved,
to who else will you give your love:
love without sincerity is so tasteless –
like a poor actor on a stage…
Everyone can perceive,0
by your poor acting, what sort of love is that,
and everyone will leave you
just when you so much need help…


You were a temptation, you were exultation
you are many seasons, a red tulip,
an accusation black and kind flattery,
an ember, burning in my hands.
And a wound, an excitement, and air and asthma,
and countless words in the biblical dispensation,
and a blossoming bud, a sabre, a threat,
a ticket to paradise bought on the black market.
Scattered thorns from the cosmic basket,
stealthy steps to my heart,
a breath of poetry, a breath of prose,
the air which my wings are beating.
The black boredom of my joys,
the eternal yearning dream at night,
the silent patter of the rolling brook,
the kiss of hot lips in the dark.
The vanished joy of the crazy eternity,
pulsating happiness on spread-eagled day-dreams,
caressing thrills of an exotic body,
yearning trepidation of good intentions.
Frenzy, ecstasy, reason, earth,
wilderness and blossoming garden
you wish to have in this world
but you lost it all without me.


You wish for wind in your hair,
in that philosophic suffocation,
a refuge from disaster but
know that reason stands guard on feeling.
You wish for wind in your hair;
I’ll create it
‘cause I have imbibed the air of the heights
on my way, wasted on love.
You wish for wind in your hair;
I’ll give it to you –
we’ll move mountains
and be embraced by flames.
Flames of lightning and fire-place,
of life and death, of a life
of innocent guilt,
which brings tears in the eyes of God Himself…

On the embers of a fire-dancer
and a phoenix – a grave,
eternal and infinitely short
like life itself….
You wish for wind in your hair –
then have your freedom
but fate ties knots
for those who have known love…
You wish for wind in your hair –
I breathed it to you but you chose another…
Then live in windy days,
‘cause you have lost love…


The cruel truths in black oblivion,
in a tender confession, molten on canvas –
I return on an unlived morning,
alighted like a dove on my hand…
Misunderstood, the bird’s voice asks me:
Where am I going and why is it so?
And God with the epaulettes of a sergeant major inquires:
“Papa Jan, where is love?!”
“Valeria, Valeria, be blessed!
On your lips hangs the world,
in your desert of a breast, cherished love,
your Fata Morgana eyes are blossoming like a rose.
Heathen Goddess, slowly sets
the Earth behind the hill, melting in charcoals,
a final ray cuts across the sky,
Valeria, I remain your sacrificial lamb!!!


The others’ love is a personal feeling.
Mine is a universal art.
In the epidermis of my sinful gene
I stayed sincere, albeit in pain.
I tore it up and took out 13 thousand hearts.
I peppered each cloud, so it be hot to the tongue
like the nails in Christ’s wounds,
like an autumn lightning,
the mildew on our bodies,
on an inspired Picasso painting,
forgotten, lost or not yet born.
Like a doe prancing on cliffs
you tore up the pupils of my thinking eyes
and from them flowed three hundred by three hundred hearts
Unattainable, you joined battle,
a doe, twisting her body, raising her ass…
You revealed your feminine splendour,
spitting rockets and kisses
on a bald head.
A torso of so many dissimulations
and a skilled diplomatist in battle
who left me all alone in the night.
I was incarnated in the tired pictures.
A wanderer-prince, a travelling heart!
From my morning a have been looking for you,
having devoted my life to beauty.
Having devoted my life to beauty!
Even before I knew you, I said:
“I love you, Irine”,
having devoted love to beauty!
Even when I was dying in the ditch,
I was dying
yet I lived to see you.

Through the millions of pictures,
through hundreds of bullets
and cruel words,
and thorny gardens
I reached barefoot, bleeding,
You, Valeria!
Torment has a terrible memory…
I was a wanderer, art patron, monk, hermit.
I was a believer and non-believer!
I wonder why I was resurrected.
I did so for love of you.


Sunk in the lakes of crystal eyes,
I touch the breath of brain plasma,
having drunk up the whirlwind of your sensibility,
I find myself in the realm of erotic day-dreams,
discerning the actual speechlessness,
I descend into the constructive fantasy of emotions.
Where roads lead to nowhere
only the faith in the memory of love remains,
the silence of an actuality without darkness
spreads in the air, fragrant of white violets…
Having chased away the cloud of my dust,
I am purified in the beyond by the coloured rainbow.
Shaded under the mask of self-satisfaction,
I peer into invisible worlds
and wish to kiss the wind,
coursing through the abyss of your face.


Sometimes a bohemian, sometimes a monk,
sometimes well-behaved and cosmic,
did I discover a shore in your embrace,
half-girl, half-woman?
Did I discover a shore in you,
half-girl, half-woman,
or was I a whim of your body,
though I love you so much…
Though I love you so much,
half-girl, half-woman,
I remained lonely and cosmic,
though I love you so much…


The ants, creeping on my old skin,
the shades of pain and delight,
my unprincipled faith,
a heart, a straw, an oar…
The ants, creeping on my old skin,
I, like a snake, shed;
I return to you, painful love,
I forgave you and didn’t forgive…
The ants, creeping on my old skin,
I recall those stars
of my infidelity
in which I rediscovered my love…

The ants, creeping on my old skin,
I remember I decided so:
I chose ice, I chose fire…
I woke alone on the morrow…


I breathed your breath
and many times touched your flesh.
More than once have I drunk from the delicious juices of your lips.
I love you;
in my endless verses I contemplate you.
I’ll die, waiting for your body!!!
I awake with the dream of touching you,
in the stinging eyes light is emptied
and like a crystal dew-drop
I shed a bitter tear.
A tear, flowing from the memory,
and my thoughts agitated sorrow;
a tear, scalding the poison
in the cup, poured out into the flesh.
And what of my pain?
It is a dried up well.
My soul has turned into a drowning person,
imbibing the memory of frenzy.
Banished from human hope,
having remained alone in the world,
a approach death.
Plant a Chinese rose on my grave –
it is now blossoming in the room
and in your weeping drown
the oblivion of our dreams.


You came to me
with let down hair, stolen from dusk,
having forgotten the days lost in a black holy mass,
with the fiery glance of two eyes fixed on the Cosmos…
Dazzlingly beautiful and throbbing with strength.
Ambivalent in the thoughts, flowing like a river.
Panting calm
leaned its head on the reason of bygone days.
You lost faith in the tumbling tower
which took us so long to build
with the trepidation of a doe.
Into my lips you poured a stream of words,
enthralling juices of love.
And – look – the instant turned
into an eternity possessed.
Romance caressed the thought
and the exhausted bodies desired
the touch of passion.
Let’s leave silence,
like sea waves,
caress us with its tenderness.
Where consciousness vanishes into the dark
in the pursuit of passions
we intertwined like sea weeds.
In our ecstasy we took off
with the speed of light
into the abyss of the cosmos.
The disintegrating atoms
of our experience of love
went back into the pit
of the empty, eternal sky.
The raging sensuality
swamped the flesh like a volcano,
hands emptied and died down
with a magical dance of song.
We were soused with the morning’s motley rhapsody…
Distant in space,
with sorrowful thoughts,
we were separated in two beds into a corner…
In our dreams we were preserved
like two children in love.


After a long spell of hunger
I asked you for some bread
but you turned to me weighed down with sternness
in the cheated eternity of sin.
Probably that was in return for the cares
which I timidly gave to you.
Benumbed insanity for days on end
sears the agitated brain
and with its swift sabre
cut away whatever had passed.
Insensitivity and coldness
emanate from the beautiful eyes!
which is not what you are!
Thorny paths
bar the way to your star moment.
Sinful illusion
possesses you in a wild impulse.
Wise advisers
knit loops for your dreams.

What is life without you?
I’ll live it to the very end…

Bitter tears sunk in a precipice!
And an impulse torn by delusion!
Goodness left over from worldly insanity
flew off with a memory of the words.
What’s left is the bitter bread of misery.
And the wounded handfuls
in which I gave you a little water
and then light-heartedly chased away
the rapacious ravens – your feelings.

It’s hard to even think it!
It’s hard to say to yourself:
my day-dreams have gone away!
How many of them you took away!
And how many did you miss?

I don’t want love perforce!
Nor do I want forgiveness that way!
Sink into oblivion,
forget I exist
and find another like me…

And with new balloons of hope
fly over the wide steppes of Russia
with your friends of snow
melt everything we experienced.
You burnt out in the furnace of my goodness:
this is your reward, I seek revenge no more
but I stored some ashes in my closet…
Fly on your balloons,
but remember your bear a cross!

I know
you are still the same…
Unselfish, with childish day-dreams,
you jump briskly upon your horse
with skin peeled off
of day-dreams of yore!!!

There’s something I thank you for:
you remember that at least –
the words you said to me:
“You made me a woman,
you made me a woman…” you say.
For which I thank you!

The mantle is torn!
The heart is broken!
The soul bleeds!
There is nobody to fly anymore!
And you departed. You failed to see
I couldn’t be the puppet
on your string!

or frowning…
or inspired…
or unbelieving…
Infinite change,
infinite whim,
but I’m not a puppet!
I’m no longer your idol!
Nor a clown, nor a jester!
I do not seek for recompense from you!
Even if I toss like a wounded panther!
I shove the old glory into the ant heap
and quickly scatter crumbs for the hungry bird.
I am faithfulness which in an Alpine caress
touches the soul and brings joy to the flesh…
I am joy which gives bliss
and brings purple into the night of stars.
Frozen calm,
cold presence,
heartlessness seared
on evil illusions.
Termites, shamefully remaining in my thoughts,
is what remains to you for recompense from me.
But what about the warmth
that we enjoyed in our day?
You have extinguished the ember in your hand.
Be forever a happy goddess!
I want you like that for the coming days…
Will you return?
I don’t know. I don’t want to think of that.
Bring stolen joy to someone else.
And if you can,
remember me sometimes…

Dedicated to the world-famous writer, philosopher and spiritual teacher Lora Yordakieva (Makhatmadevi).

Flying higher than any expression,
seeking the expanse of the liberated soul
floating through the labyrinths of spirit,
new heights for much love!
For you: that’s ME!…


The fairest child of God!
The princess of my eyes!
The one who has touched the magic of love,
reflected in the crystals of wisdom.
Poetry, magic and dreams!…
For me: that’s YOU!…

Dedicated to the world-famous writer, philosopher and spiritual teacher Lora Yordakieva (Makhatmadevi).

Radiant love with hair of fire,
shine on the day the sun went dark,
shine on the day the Earth was spellbound in darkness
shine also in sombre eyes…
Shine in the fog,
shine in the cornfields,
shine in faraway forests
also shine in distant fantasies
and inspire them with brightness…
Shine when the road comes to a dead end,
be a loyal weather vane to me.
Shine brilliantly over anger
and turn it into love.
Shine on foggy roads
and hearten fear with hope,
cheer up hardship
as only you know with playful beams…
Shine when the sun goes down,
shine in the dark sky,
outshine all the stars,
shine in my heart!

/To Russia with love/

Hands and colours,
eyes wounded in love,
an open heart…

For love, for much love…

/To Davitashvili Djuna, world-famous extra-sense healer, generalissimo, academician, professor, artist, poet: (Moscow, 1 July, 1998): The Russian President Boris Yeltzin has awarded her the title of Generalissomo, Extra-sense healer, Djuna Devatashvilli – the only woman in the world who has been awarded this title.
„Kniaz(Prince) Papa Jan, you are a great man on this planet; your creative work has tremendous importance and deserves great attention. It is food for thought. Your painting brings eternal life. Let it be as your God ordains! YOU ARE HISTORY AND A LIVING LEGEND! LIVE FOREVER! Sincerely your friend: Djuna.”

The wild impulses which breed madness
on the cross of destiny
drink love from the holy veins
and die for lack of sleep
in the boredom of grey things,
endless misery
and under their armpits – the night…

The writhing snail,
the aesthetic of the drunken pig
before the foam of the Absolute,
an open vagina,
a soul-vagina,
a pony-heart
and the vile Absolute
asks me: WHERE TO? WHERE TO!

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