16 | Poetry by Zdravka Evtimova, Winner of the Best Bulgarian Novel Award (Union of Bulgarian Writers), Razvitie Literary Award for Best Bulgarian Contemporary Novel, Anna Kamenova National Fiction Award & Book of Europe Nominee
Poem of Stones
Even the smartest men could not imagine
I had invented them.
My father, the old volcano, said, “It was a wrong thing to do, son.”
I am dust and clay. I am granite and an endless ruby.
The men I created cut me into slabs, baked bricks out of me,
and turned me into houses for their children.
I had waited billions of years
for men to grow up and learn the language of time.
I am a stone ball they call a UFO.
I created them because even a stone is lonely.
“They steal. They kill,” my mom, the red-hot magma, said.
“They gobble the food that belongs to somebody else. They get
somebody else’s girl and his job. They are powerful.”
But sometimes they wake at night, feeling a dull pain in the chest.
They remember they had stolen and killed.
This dull pain is the language of the billion years.
I am a stone ball that created men out of loneliness.
They think I am a UFO.
I hope that a day will come when
they will understand the language of time,
and then their children will know my true name: the earth.