From the pen of Turlough Ó Maoláin ...

The Chronicles of Bulgaria

A Hot Afternoon in Malki Chiflik


Nothing moves. There is no breeze.

No birds fly by in the cloudless sky.

No creature has the will to disturb the cruel tranquillity.

Not even bees.

Too warm to swarm or gather pollen from the sunflowers

That mockingly smile as earth cracks at their feet.

Gaping fissures like mouths desperate for drink.


Trees stand solemn and still like lofty gravestones.

Memorials to past days of rain and

Cooler times before August’s furnace came.

Leaves wrinkle and crinkle and dry

Beside fruit that blushes and swells

Making me wonder where it finds the energy.

For I have none.


In a shadow a sleeping Tom

Plays hide and seek with the fierce rays.

With time to bide for the heat to subside,

Only the cat can win.

Nothing stirs. Nothing purrs

‘til dusk shaving off a few degrees

Brings shelter in a conflict with this swelter.


Our smiling sunflowers.

Our smiling sunflowers.

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