Rositza Pironska lives in a world far removed from what
most of us are used to. It wasn't that long ago when
Bulgaria, her homeland, was a repressive Communist
satellite of the former Soviet Union. And remnants of
that regime still affect the political and social climate of
the country. Poverty, suppression of freedom, and
corruption run rampant. Pironska loves poetry. It is a major
part of her life; a salve that dresses and sometimes heals
her wounds. She writes and translates poetry, and not just her
own. A compassionate person by nature, she encourages other
poets, giving them a voice via the Krug Review and other publications.
HAIKU
winter time . . .
a May beetle sleeping
under the Chinese rose
quite heavy,
this hornet . . .
the petunia bending
half asleep...
closer and closer
the goat bells
he kissed me and
laughed out loud,
my friend, the moon
saffrons,
sleeping when
I pick them up
alone on its nest
the fixed eyes of a stork
on live wires
loneliness . . .
no snails in the garden
this autumn
Rositza Pironska lives in a world far removed from what
most of us are used to. It wasn't that long ago when
Bulgaria, her homeland, was a repressive Communist
satellite of the former Soviet Union. And remnants of
that regime still affect the political and social climate of
the country. Poverty, suppression of freedom, and
corruption run rampant. Pironska loves poetry. It is a major
part of her life; a salve that dresses and sometimes heals
her wounds. She writes and translates poetry, and not just her
own. A compassionate person by nature, she encourages other
poets, giving them a voice via the Krug Review and other publications.