Purple air, the Thracian spring
the wide yard with rustling trees
the wedding was in full swing ‒
the bridegroom happy the bride
happy between the echoes of joyous
laughter and the sound of dulcimer
and the squeaking of violins
and the flowery girls of the mountain
the dancing no longer ended the bride
was taken to dance in competition
four bulky guys were spinning her
more often, the hunks had been invited
from the company where she was employee
they unleashed themselves under the quick
Thracian wind across all this wooded place.
The bridegroom’s dance incited jubilant
shouts he kissed the trodden earth
and was spinning on and on happily
four bulky guys grabbed him and threw
him to the sky and let him fall like the black
lightening he fell and broke his spine.
The bulky guys were laughing. The busy bride
said, “You’ve escaped me: I wasn’t sure, either
that he’s my man.” He returned from the hospital
in a wheelchair. She was changing her love partners.
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