in Bulgarian

    I would like
to write
	a poem
the spirit
	 of modern times,
as proudly
	 as demon wings
that scour the earth
		   from pole to pole.

Why do folk grumble?
Why do they sigh
for the old
romantic jumble?

Romance is today in the engines that sing
in the blue upper air,
and you who have not understood their refrain
have no right to despair.

For their song brings
to men
the enduring strength
of supple steel wings.

These birds, before long,
shall cast seed
		on the land.
Their echoing song
hails the freedom of man.

They shall fly over ocean
and tropical belt,
where corn is in motion,
where snows never melt.

I proclaim
new romance
	  being born
and maturing,
the aeroplane racing -
a power
the whole world today.

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