No words

Boris Hristov barely needs an introduction or public attention. But I can’t help to share my admiration and deep respect from such a presence, saturated with silence, in a full harmony with the afternoon sun over Rhodope mountains. Silence so delicately expressed in his “Book of silence”, which starts approximately as follows (the verse is in Bulgarian, translation is mine):

What does the philosopher speak?
Isn’t it the same, which I live –
but with no words?