Envisions of Bulgaria: Kavarna

The Bay

At noontide, the sand is flowing between the rocks. A stream receding to its dried up spring. Light sweeping all over the serene place. Phantoms descend from the hill, disappear among the people at the beach - noisy, water splashing, eating melons under sunshades. Tunes, audio hideouts, jingle in the softening wind - then the silence.


Not the church, the stained glass windows, eloquent, humming to sunflower fields. A negative of the meeting at Kavarna Municipal Hall: transparent heads and hollow torsos of babies with their mothers. Collective spirit of playfulness. Eclipsed joy of being alive. Pride of not missing the faith which only the company of nonviolent people can offer. A drifting scene. We stay here, on this side of the divide, floating over the water.

Sensible Horizon

Offerings: screaming roses and cheese. Sea breeze spreading into the "Chaika" restaurant. "And thou art still thinking of the forty virgins - protesting against the invaders - flying from the rock down to the sea at Cape Kaliakra? Roses for you! Don't shout 'Heavens! What vegetables!' Don't smash a window in the plane to toss them down from 30.000 ft. altitude. Don't abandon them in the plane either. That would hurt the old man."

The Dance Party

Thick is the night. The names of the objects in the bay, given by renegade minds, are being extinguished. Objects, sounds, lights, and dancers intermingle, loose distinctiveness, and glow. An energy, native of seaside night, a gentle storm, sways them between sensed danger and homeliness. After a while, they slow down, the earth is relaxed and the scene is dry.


Rose oil in the crystal glass. Here is a day, and a ration of air to caress your body, and over there an arc of dry branches for the entrance to your future open space, overlooking the Bay of Kavarna.

Anwar Al-Ghassani
June 3, 1995

Copyright (C) 1995 Anwar Al-Ghassani