Tuesday, November 1, 2016




Sensitivity sentences one to loneliness,
empathy brings one closer to people.
Subsequent influx and efflux of feelings
teach the physics of existence.

I know,
I will not build the bridge between heaven and earth,
I will not catch up the waning moon,
I will not find the end of the rainbow.

I'm so close, you can almost touch my hand
and yet I’m far distant from your thoughts.

Life disappoints, dreams give hope.


Between I want and I'd like to
There's a space of impossibilities.

I want - boldly aims at the target
Ignores obstacles, oversteps barriers.
I'd like to - takes hesitant steps,
Pauses halfway,
Looks timidly backwards,
Often thinks about resignation,
Breaks down when facing difficulties.

I discover the meaning and the power of the word.
I leave I'd like to behind
And enter the level of I want.


with my body, I am near to the roots
with my thoughts, I reach the longest branches
I soar towards the sun
I caress the green canopy

the tree records years in its rings
warm-cold, dry-wet
and I record emotions on a piece of paper
sadness-joy, love-loneliness

we are dear to each other
often, I embrace its trunk
maybe it will remember the touch of my hands
rustle with memories


She went out to the balcony,
Stood for a moment and lit a cigarette.
The wind scattered her hair amidst a wisp of blue smoke.
Her dress fluttered like a banner on the barricades.

She threw herself into the arms of the wind,
To meet with the earth.
She glided down at the rate of gravity.
The purple flower blossomed on the concrete sidewalk .

Terrified someone shouted.
The siren of an ambulance cut the silence.
She was lying on the shield –
Winning many battles she lost the war.

Life went on, continuing its rhythm.
It bypassed her.


I walk barefoot on the stubble.
I turn back time.
Again, I'm a girl with blond braids.
I weave camomiles and cornflowers into my hair.
I know how to place my feet,
so as not hurt them with the sharp thorns .

I walked far.
My heels pierced the ground, the doubts of my mind.
I lost my trust of a child, and my confidence of being.
I do not know what happened to
My faith in humanity and my good fortune.

I return from memories.
I look for relief in the song of larks.
Can I find the forgotten dreams?
Regain a slice of the lost paradise?
Somewhere, in the stubble lies the old "I" .


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