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These books were not printed “for display.” They were not created to shine in magazines or to be sold by season. They were written as letters — letters to the world, to the one who will open them, and perhaps — to the self.
Valko published his collection “All That I Am” — but it is far more than a collection. It is a ship, carved long and narrow from a single raw soul. Inside, everything is Viking sorrow and an unbroken heart — a warrior who has tasted the honey of love, yet remains alone on the shore where waves strike the stone again and again. His poetry is rough as an axe, but at its core lies a tenderness that aches.
Maria writes softly, delicately, like someone listening to the fall of ash. But she does not simply write poems — she turns them into objects. “Cigarettes” — words rolled into thin paper tubes, to be “smoked” slowly when love tastes bitter. “Matchbox” — a small box where the poems wait to flare, the moment you open it. “Message in a Bottle” — a message sent to the sea, meant for someone who may never come. Her books are not merely held — they are lived.
And Mila — she gathers stories from life the way light is gathered in the last minutes before sunset. Short stories, aphorisms and notes that she calls “nonsense,” yet they are the fine grains of gold that stay in the soul long after the conversation is over. Texts that do not preach. They simply nudge the heart and say: “Do you remember too?”
Here, the books are not arranged by genre. Here, they are arranged by human breathing.
Whoever reaches for them — let them know: they are not coming to read. They are coming to feel.
Our Books
Vulko Donev – All That I Am
In Valko’s poems, one does not simply hear a tale of love. One hears the footsteps of a warrior who has stepped down from the battlefield, taken off his armor, and remained alone. Alone — but not weak. Alone — but uncovered.
This is not the sorrow of a dreamer. It is the sorrow of a person who has loved the way one goes to war — to the end. And has lost the way one loses in legends — forever.
In “All That I Am,” the heart beats with a heavy rhythm — proud and shattered at once. Love here is not an exalted feeling, not salvation, not comfort. Love is a wound. Bloody, painful, and true.
“Feeling of love,
Go burn in Hell,
What a lovely smell”
— this is not blasphemy. It is a prayer turned toward darkness — the prayer of someone betrayed by his own hope. Here, pain is not lament. It is confession. Pain is proof that he believed. And that it still hurts.
“All that I am, All that I will ever be” — feels like a seal pressed upon the heart. It is a vow. A vow of someone who has endured collapse, yet refuses to cease being himself.
This book is not for everyone.
This is a book for those who have:
stood long before a door that will not open;
called out into the night while the city slept;
held their heart in their hands and carried it like an extinguished lantern.
The book carries the spirit of ancient northern songs — where love is a storm, and the soul is a ship returning to shore without sails, yet with honor.
All That I Am does not offer comfort.
It offers truth.
Language: English
© 2023 Vulko Donev, Author
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Maria Kaneva — Cigarettes
The poetry of Maria does not speak. It whispers.
It does not break doors, does not demand, does not shout — it pours like a silence that knows far more than it says. In her verses there is fragility, but not weakness; sorrow, but not despair; pain, but one that has been purified, the kind that turns a human being into a finer version of themselves.
In the poem:
There is a certain lightness in sorrow, that lifts us above the real.
Sorrow is not a pit — it is an elevation. This is remarkably rare. Most poets drown in sadness. Maria rises through it.
She sees that when pain speaks truthfully, reality thins — and one becomes transparent, weightless, luminous. The body in her poetry fades so that the soul may remain:
Light streams from our palms. The body dissolves.
Here, love and loss are not opposites, but two sides of the same wing. This is poetry of quiet transitions: from earthly to airy, from pain to peace, from weeping to a secret radiance.
And perhaps the most beautiful:
Fading flowers have a miraculous scent.
She sees beauty where life is withdrawing. She knows that in the final breath there is a mysterious aroma — the truth of things freed from time.
Maria’s poetry is for those who have once stood at a window at dusk and felt the world stop turning for a moment. For those who feel words not in the mind, but beneath the collarbone — where the quiet heart is.
She does not console. She does not promise. She does not explain.
She guides the soul through sorrow, as over a bridge of air — and leaves the reader on the far shore quieter. Deeper. More human.
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Maria Kaneva - Matchbox
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Maria Kaneva - Message in a bottle
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Boyan Donev - Drawings
A collection of Boyan Donev's drawings. Spanning three decades from 1991 to 2023, this book is a visual journey through the intricate and thought-provoking world of black and white drawings.
With a keen eye for detail and a unique artistic style, Boyan Donev's drawings are a testament to his creativity and imagination. Many of his works are imbued with a sense of melancholy, while others are laced with biting sarcasm, offering a sharp commentary on the complexity of the human condition. Metaphors abound in Boyan Donev's drawings, inviting readers to delve into the layers of meaning hidden in each work.
Drawing inspiration from Greek mythology and classical literature, Boyan Donev's drawings are a blend of ancient tales and contemporary interpretations. His intricate drawings evoke a sense of timelessness as he skillfully intertwines the past and present into a visual symphony of emotions.
Language - English
© 2023 Boyan Donev, Author
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Mila Vasileva — BlahBlah
“BlahBlah” is a book that seems to be joking — yet it never stops being serious and deep. It is a book of short stories, aphorisms, and momentary flashes, the kind of thoughts one scribbles on a napkin in a café — and later discovers that there is more truth in them than in thick books written with self-importance.
There is no pose here. No literary mask. This is the voice of someone who has seen enough to laugh gently at sorrow, and who has felt enough to avoid laughing cruelly.
The stories — The Man with the Fish, The Red Slap-Sandal, Toward the Abyss — at first glance appear strange, even absurd. The world looks turned inside-out, like a fairy tale told by someone who knows that fairy tales reveal more of us than our autobiographies ever could.
But behind the absurdity stands something true and deeply human: the sense that life is both comic and tragic at once, and that both things happen in the same instant, inside the same person.
The tone of the book is slightly ironic, but never harsh. It says: Yes, the world is mad. So are we. And it is good to admit that — because then it hurts less.
These are miniature mirrors in which the reader sometimes sees themselves crooked, sometimes ridiculous, sometimes surprisingly beautiful in their vulnerability.
“BlahBlah” does not teach. Does not preach. Does not overflow with “important messages.” It simply shows life as it is — a little foolish, a little touching, a little absurd, a little sacred.
A book for those who know how to laugh through tears. For those who understand that the most serious truths are often spoken with a smile, and that the deepest wisdom sometimes sounds like… blah blah.
But that is only the surface.
In truth, there is a great heart inside this book. A heart that carries the whole world within it — and tries to speak it in a way that does not wound.
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