top of page


Peycho Kanev  








Is it true that we have a predetermined number

of heart beats in our lifetime;

that, year after year, the date of our death

gets closer to that of our birth,

or does it work the other way around?

I love to watch how all the sheets of the calendar

fall, one after the other. They seep through time              

and sink in the floor like tears in mud.

The pendulum of the clock on the wall

swings back and forth and cuts the meat of space

like a knife, but there is no blood at all.

Outside, the cherry blossoms for the first time this year.

White and pink – the colors of a new beginning.          

And black and black, of course.

Time is what defines us.

And we live inside its flexible framework,

feeling the edges, tasting them, biting…

But right now I strike a match, hoping it will burn

slower than the darkness looming towards me.

But instead I light my cigarette, wait for

the darkness inside to get out.


bottom of page