My Home

Quite unexpectedly, I was inspired to write a poem about the city I live in.

Varna isn’t the place where I was born and raised. I moved here in 2013, almost 13 years ago. I used to live in a city surrounded by mountains, but I have always—since I remember myself—been dreaming about the sea.

Now, to be fair, I do miss the mountains, and they have a special place in my heart. But I can’t imagine not living next to the sea anymore.

I have moved to a different country, learned a new language, met new friends, and even eventually made a new family. My youngest son was born here 6 years ago. To say that Varna means a lot to me would be a great understatement.

And I love it just the way it is.

Besides, a city that inspires you to write about it on one of the coldest and gloomiest days of winter must be truly extraordinary, trust me.

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My Home

This city breathes with gusts of wind

It cries with seagulls and whispers with waves

It wears its age with pride

And embraces all its imperfections with confidence

Its scent of choice is fresh bread and grilled meat with a hint of sea salt and coffee

Sometimes it wraps itself in a blanket of fog

But it can’t conceal its sunny nature for too long

It sings with church bells and flaps of wings

Accompanied by a choir of street cats

It feels like your favorite old slippers

Slightly worn out but too cozy to let go of

It reminds you to breathe and take things slow

It invites you to walk through its sprawling park

And listen to the trees

It’s old but forever young

It’s perfectly imperfect

I’m honored to call it my home