My veil with silver threads is lighting up my way

Not a migrant

If I was a veiled woman

I’d wrap a purple scarf around me with silver threads.

I’d feel cosy like a child carried around in a blanket.
My weaves lighting up the road before me
like a treacle of chandeliers on a Halloween night.
I would not worry about my hair or make-up.
I’d take my kitchen and attic with me everywhere
and whisper to them as trusted friends, my close relatives…

…about fresh kohlrabi dipped in salt,
about gooseberries, Bulgarian grapes,
about the dark-eyed boy from the fairground
and all the things I knew twenty-five years ago.

If I was a veiled woman I would sing into my ear
about the sky, the warm skin, kind people
and the dome of air that carries me to you –
from Chuckery all the way to Carpathians.

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