Ноябрь. На улице безбожно холодно,
На душе сквозняк.
Птицы вновь передо́хнут от голода,
Тем самым накормив собак.

Безвозвратно запутались волосы;
С мыслями всё точно так же.
И жизни белые полосы
Кто-то тщательно вымазал в саже.

Ко всему ещё ливень прибавится;
Не пройдет мимо грубый прохожий.
С наслаждением, гневно на вас он уставится,
Предварительно, скорей всего, нечаянно
Заехав вам зонтом по грустной роже.


Ноябрь 2018


Would you carry me home to the mountains?
Make me write you a poem or two?
Where the trees are the greenest fountains
Springing up to the sky that’s ever blue.
Would you carry me home to the mountains?
It will stop me from feeling subdued.

Do you hear how Elbrus is calling?
Perhaps, not. That’s not where you were raised.
I do pray that one day you will find yourself strolling
Through those hills, in my childhood’s maze.
You may not hear Elbrus’s calling,
Yet you’re feeling my infinite gaze.

Find me staring into the darkness,
Watch me picture the mountainous home.
Try to feel how my mind is dissolving the city so starless.
As the heart is gasping for a highland sight to behold.
Yet my body is still in the darkness,
Thinking home’s where the heart is – or so I’ve been told.

What if the heart has encompassed the planet?
What can one in that case call their home?
And what if it’s a powerful magnet,
Hauled to two distant places, around which it’ll roam?
What if you are the size of the planet?
Is it you to whom my heart will now belong?

And if so, would you bring me one day to my mountains?
You may then feel the pain that I do
Every time I leave behind the fondest, the countless,
Whitest tops amongst which my heart grew.
Then surrounded by ravishing mountains
I shall write you a poem or two.

September 2018


Opening something new is always terrifying and sometimes even painful. Regardless of the fact that quite often we know of the benefits of some new beginning, it is nonetheless a change of usual conditions, therefore a particular stress. As we know, any stress always has an effect on a human being. Negative stress, such as a car accident, death, or simply a bad grade, is stored in our memory. Similarly, positive stress, such as getting into your first-choice university, celebrating a birthday, or buying a new car, is also stuck in our memory and might somewhat influence us. Maybe our whole life consists of different types of stress. Quite likely, negative stress is the one we start our lives with.

Imagine a baby. Suppose he finds himself in a particular space for nine months. The place might be loved or not – regardless, one eventually gets used to it. In that place, the baby has no other choice but to undergo everything his mother experiences, apart from a cramped space, of course. It is impossible to leave the baby in one room and have an argument in another, hide him from danger, or save him from his mother’s fears or frustrations.

Can the baby remember everything that’s ever happened to his mother while he was in a womb? If that’s the case, do our personality and behaviour become nurtured in this unconscious mind? Are there experiences we’ve emotionally undergone in a womb through our mothers that are now shaping who we are? Perhaps, shaping who we are is a bit strong of an assumption, but can those experiences trigger certain reactions or emotions we have as adults?

Imagine how you are lying in your warm, comfortable bed next to your mother, to the person you were physically attached to for nine months. Suddenly there are screaming, panicking, worrying, and all sorts of uncontrolled, possibly negative emotions. You are forcefully pulled out of your bed to a completely different and an unfamiliar world. To the world where your mother might have suffered, where your birth is merely a job for someone, and pray to Lord they at least do it decently. The world where you might not have been expected or even wanted. Yet you are violently brought into this hell.


Summer 2013. Edited September 2018


Распишите мне красками осени
Свою давнюю печаль.
Вас когда-то нежданно бросили,
И направили в даль.

За окном шли дожди, вы плакали,
Был короче день.
За рассветами и закатами
Вырастала тень.

Собирали вы пыль ресницами,
Остывал ваш чай.
И кричали вы вместе с птицами.
Про свою печаль.

Странно же, вроде, краски тёплые
И рисуют свет.
Но выходят картины блёклые,
Цвета нет.

Август 2018


У окна, в нагретой летним Солнцем вазе,
Подсолнухи желтеют, будто пытаясь стать цвета огня.
И с самого утра, всё кажется, цветы внимают моей фразе
О том, что наступило начало наконец не солнечного дня.

И кажется, они жару себе забрали.
И горячо настолько, что в сердцевине их объята желтыми ресницами густая чернота.
И каждого прохожего они изящно, незаметно обокрали.
У них теперь дождливо утро, у них всё лужи, серость, пустота.

Но вот ещё день, два, подсолнухи завянут.
Ресницами усыпав стол, оставив только черные глаза.
Бездвижные, уставившись на свет, даже они смотреть устанут.
На смену Солнцу в комнату придёт гроза.

Август 2018


Imagine how your stomach is getting gently but firmly pierced with countless butterflies. Their feathery bodies land on your organs from time to time, creating a ticklish sensation. Is this how the romance starts?

Before you know it, the sensation gets heavier, and you feel as if your stomach expands into a vast field. Butterflies, too, gain density, as you feel them turn into colourful birds, tickling the air with their soft feathers. Their transcendent singing creates a solid layer of sound, blocking any noise from the outside world. The only things that exist now are the birds and your perception of reality. Behind this layer you feel safer and more comfortable than ever. This must be how one’s feelings physically manifest themselves as the romance proceeds.

Imagine how this reality fills you up, fully infecting your brain with the new form of existence. You pour yourself a cup of tea, and it feels as if it’s your hands that keep the liquid warm. Some would say you annoyingly emanate happiness, but of course you only find it endearing. Is that how the romance peaks?

You nonetheless proceed with great caution, taking a step back every time even a single butterfly manages to escape your body. You wait for some external force to bring it back, and it most often does.

But can those insects keep hovering forever? And if not, perhaps you should forbid them from flying altogether? Would that be healthy?

Nevertheless, though you’ll never be able to protect the butterflies from getting ruthlessly slaughtered, this time the chances of that misfortune happening are much slimmer, and for that you’re grateful. This perception of safety lets you open up even more, creating further space for the butterflies to keep tickling you. Is this how the romance is preserved?

June 2018


Over a year has gone by.
No longer on the cusp of life and death,
You do seem to be treasuring your life,
Deriving pleasure from every single breath.

It seems as though you realise,
There was a reason for this situation.
The learning curve appeared flat at first; now in your eyes
There is an ever longer destination.

A bit cliché – you have discovered God.
The heart is now filled up with holy presence.
I shall continue to so vigorously laud
The curse on your dear life you had considered an excrescence.

April 2018