fragments (time)

… Time, my old nightmare and obsession, my last and most loyal friend…

Time… I like your electronic version,
when you wink at me with crazy messages.
my favorite one is 4:44, especially when it is AM.
you are asking me whose time am I stealing.
sometimes you talk in binary codes, 11:11,
the old trick of yours,
just because you can.
I try to decipher the significance of you…
where all the zeroes go?
you omit them, the moments
when you cease to exist ….
I do not exist either in the realities of my nil.
I cannot see beyond the bottom of my breath,
when even my thoughts pause.

Time… if I ever knew God,
it was you, old trickster
hiding in the visibility of your own creation,
forming loops and bubbles,
curling tight into yourself,
with the deception of a viper,
and ready to snap fast in a most inappropriate moment
when I don’t have time to say Good Bye…

at the times when l am asleep
and travel the valley of a dreamland,
I can see your true identity,
my most elusive acquaintance.
you are in your old fashion form,
two hands moving one after another tirelessly
with bad synchronicity
over and around a circular disk…

In the moment of my descent into awakening,
I catch a glimpse of your rapid movement backwards,
for me not to end up in a too distant future...

fragments (dream)

...How far the abstract thought can drift? There are no set limits. Although, if you are questioning yourself, taste the waters of a dreamland. But with great caution…


I am dreaming of a hunting tiger...
fast and silent, free and quiet
hunting tiger…
light like a wind, silent as a night,
my mind is cold, my body patient,
my paws softly rest on the ground.
strength is hidden beneath my skin.
green light ignites in my yellow eyes,
and extinguished in the black oval pupils.
I am ready to spring. I am ready to leap.
I am ready to land on my prey
with all my weight... and plunge my claws
into its flesh with all my force.
I hold my breath and blaze into the night,
my body silently flies through the air…
the prey is unaware…

lletters (emphaty vs compassion)

...There are times in our lives when we have to live through the pain of tragic events. People around feel sorry and sympathize with us. And one can live with hope of recovery. There are other times, when our pain is locked so deep in our hearts that not even a drop can surface. What do you do then? I make a bonfire; I drop my heart into the flames and hope that the pain will turn into ashes before all the signs of life will disappear from my heart...

..my sinking heart…
long fall to the bottom of my chest,
bouncing in the ribcage..
pain... despair...
in not knowing from where…

if only I can trade my empathy for compassion,
if only I can be a sorrowful bystander…

I am bleeding with you; I am dying with you…
my body is wrapped in bondage of time…
my mouth is sealed...
no sound no scream
can escape empathies suffocating grip,
six feet of heavy dirt over my still body.
it lets only my tears roll freely…
for me to have a choice
to fill my lungs with its watery bitterness
or let the pain rupture my heart
at the moment of the original blast...

letters (thinking about you)

...No matter how personal it is; it’s boring like a grandma’s story. No matter how dense those emotions are packed; they are dry like the heart of a desert. No matter what flames shimmer from afar; they are cold like an Arctic winter. I am talking about my blog. And I promise, for those who follow me that I will think of a strategy to make it unboring. Or, as a minimum, I will make it personal and real once in a while...


thinking about you.

when I think about you,
the smell of sandalwoods
and foreign winds caresses my nostrils.
I feel the mist
of endless monsoons on my face.
I think of elephant rides through the river of light
where the bleeding moon hangs
from the branch of an exotic tree,
I would not know the name…

I would not know why, where and how?
I would just walk carefully
at the bank of a wide river,
against the flow, to the beginning,
hidden in the high mountains…

when I am thinking about you…

letters (my friend)

Мій товариш.
я не була поряд, коли тобі була потрібна допомога.

твоє обличчя ронівечене ротворними шрамами
рани,які загоїлись без хірургічного дотику.
сліди насильства відлиті в маску замороженого болю,
хвиля страху і зневаги заровнила мій розум
коли мої очі торкнулися твого лиця.

твій голос досяг мого слуху
злегка змінений роками пияцтва,
частими бронхітами й важким курінням.
я впізнала твій голос, мій товариш з минулого,
мій ніжний турвотливий Ангел, ти врятував мене
ти нічого не просив взамін
пішов собі тихо коли буря втихла
і я була в безпеці..

letters (nothing)

NOTHING
…lost in the labyrinth of unfamiliar things,
drifting to the end of tunnel,
toward the light, not knowing
what it has to offer, if anything
it is comfort in nothing
for nothing needs
no opposite
it is complete in its simplicity,
it fills emptiness with the power
of dormant possibilities
from where all things sprung
and into what all things are drifting.

letters (modern relationship)

My secret cyber lover,
I have a confession to make, and not about you
but about the fact that I made a fake copy of my heart
and presented to you as the original. I wanted to see
for how long one could buy such nonsense.
Especially one who is convinced to be an expert of
breaking women hearts for a living. There was no thought
about revenge or hatred in general of man. I was chosen
by some unexpected twist of fate.
Perhaps as a punisher for my sisters’ pain and wrecked lives.
I don’t confess any lies. I just lived with two hearts
for a while. I loved you with all my fake heart.
I guess logical continuum of the thought
would be, with a perfect fake love. Although my fake heart was
never aware of its fakeness and temporality
(the strategies route implemented from the beginning
to prevent the act of betrayal). In my defense,
the real heart is not a subject of eternity either.
I was free of forming any habits or addictions,
problems only applicable to our corporeal selves.
I wish I could grant my real heart the same freedom
and creativity. No second thought, no reservations.
From the perspective of life preservation, we are obligated
to protect the blood pumping mechanism;
it doesn’t come in a pairs. I was fearful at first whether my mind
would be able to process effectively an imposed duality
with loyalty. But that son-of-a-bitch was thriving,
filled with excitement and allegiance to both sides.
And as I observed it in bewilderment, it winked at
me in encouragement with the charm and seduction
of an ancient snake from the infamous garden,
to bring more players to the game. And shouted
“NOT GUILTY!”

letters (The Word)

The Word.
handful of words, limited to the number.
colorful pebbles vary in shapes and weight.
just so many could be juggled at once
to cast formless chimera over darkness,
paint rainbows over none existing skies.
keys to the world of deception, guides in the land of lies.
I let them sift freely through my hands,
like sand, like water, like wind…

if you meet me in my darkest.
the only one would remain,
lay flat on my palm.
colorless, weightless and attractive
like void, like emptiness, like nothing…
like your name…

letters (image of love)

IMAGE OF LOVE
one day the love of lonely hearts
showers over the ashes of your soul
the love which you cannot accept, receive
and cannot bear to witness.

… and tears rolls down your eyes
when you witness such a familiar pain and despair,
as God sent a mirror for you to see the Wonderlife
beyond the surface of the glass.

you touch it with your hands
in hope to change the image,
in hope to melt the lifeless surface….

and communion won’t ever happen as you stay there,
under the shower of love mixed with bitterness of your tears…

fragments(grace)

Great God, forgive my sins
that I intended to commit today
and let me understand what stopped me!

I want to thank You for the Sun
that You allowed to raise this morning.
I hope that You won’t change your mind
and let the Sun ascend tomorrow also.

oh Father, don’t let me die tonight
and wonder endlessly in dreams
not knowing that I’m trapped.
and never let my dreams drift into yours.

I wish I could thank you
for Life, that you created,
for reasons, only known to You.

I wish that many things would happen,
I wish that that many would never manifest.
I wish that I could know, I want to know,
and would forget that better be forgotten.

letters (nostalgia)

cold moonlight sifts through the open window,
into the frozen darkness of my room,
knocks on the door of my dreams,
awakes me in the silence of the night.
my eyes reflect the light of distant stars,
my spirit is frozen by the absence.
I’m lost in this unfriendly, empty world.
hopelessness fills the vacancy of my aching heart.

…new day will replace the night
and night would paint again
another day into the darkness.
the order of changes
mixed with the chaos of feelings.
it is no purpose there.
Just a measurement of time.

fragments( Not of any importance.. )

….Sometimes life does not feel real, at all. Sometimes, when I am facing the mirror, I’m looking into my eyes. The other times, when the veil of time curtains my view, I am looking into the eyes of a stranger. And I try to remember whether I am sleeping and dreaming a strange dream, whether the reality of a dreamland had absorbed my being to the last molecule. I search deep into my memory and my feelings for the answers…. I don’t have any other realities. All I have is the present one, my own, where I am an actor and a director. I filled in all the blanks, omitted by life. I would not know anymore what is real and what is not. I try to pinch myself awake and I know it would not matter much, for I can dream my pain, my love, my affection… I wonder if I will die in my dream, would I be able to find the exit from that white room with no doors and no windows. Although it would not be of any importance…

letters (am I a patriot?)

I wonder what makes you a patriot. The other day I got a compliment being a patriot of my country because I drive a particular car. And I realized that I have never thought about it. I disapprove, dislike and disagree with many things that happened in my country. I am not politically active, except the presidential election, my civic duties. Does that make me less patriotic?
On the other hand, there is not a day in my life when I suddenly remember that the USA exists and I feel like a kid on charismas morning, just from that single thought. Next thought of mine is that I live half of my life in this country and I feel elated; I can compare my feelings to feelings of falling in love. I wonder whether it counts for something.
And being objective, if I would ever be asked to give my life for this country I would not think twice and I would be honored. I definitely count this one.
About me driving a Bonneville, other that it is black, my favorite color, I like the fact that it is made in my favorite city of Detroit…. An unrelated thought, I find all my worldly possessions in the reality where my desires and financial ability meets. And I really want to drive BMW!...

fragments (Illusions)

I walked away into a sand storm… Just a moment ago I was sitting in the comfort of an indoor bar, nursing a glass of red wine and staring into the mirror, that reflected the people behind me, for nothing better to do. The similarities between the two women suggested a mother and daughter relationship. They have an infant on top of the table in some kind of a baby carriage, I was not familiar with. They were engaged in a busy conversation: talking loudly, smoking excessively. The infant was silent, I wondered whether from the intoxication or realization about in what kind of hell all those cycles of rebirth can drop you at one time. I watched them until their faces disappeared in the cloud of bluish smoke…
The rough, tasteless granules of pale sand crunched under my teeth. It was annoying. Sandstorms…. I used to like them: traveling with Bedouins, being buried into the moving sands, measuring deserts from the edge to edge… I used to like it; perhaps I am getting to old… I stayed still for a moment, leaning against the gusts of wind, mixed with sand, then I turned around and walked back to the sanctuary of the indoors. To my surprise the building, I just left a moment ago, was further and more to the north that I remember. I realized that it was not only a sandstorm I stepped in; I completed my running circle and ended up back home, from where I was so desperate to escape… many times. One step, one more... I am still alive. He did not devour me this time. I was not even wounded. I was puzzled, the thoughts and images that were flooding my mind were bizarre, invasive and not familiar at all. “He acted human” I muttered to myself “and he almost succeeded, almost convinced me”. I wondered about his foul language, about the riddle with two whorehouses and a church, even so there are only sand dunes for miles and miles, in any direction you can see. And he was not the type who would be familiar with any church, perhaps the whorehouses. My mind was frantically looking for the answers; trying to find the memory and origin of that thought.
I felt that I escaped my usual ordeal, but did I? Doubt and fear squeezed my heart, there was nothing human about him; I had sensed it. Pain of the mortal wounds and helpless desperation of the violent death sharpened my senses. My acute awareness about my surroundings told me that something very important was missing. As I opened the door, human scents rushed through my nostrils and flooded my brain with slowness of their thoughts, retardation of the speech and action. I remembered him now, he was different. He was one step ahead of me; he sensed me before I could realize that I was trapped. He definitely puzzled me today, not a beast, not a flame breathing dragon, almost a human... almost.
He had killed me for so many times, I wondered, whether he was infected, at the time when my blood was all over his beak and claws, whether my human pieces of flesh got imbedded into him and started the mutation process. But on the other hand...
The waiter silently materialized himself by my table “You are back ma'am. Would you like more wine, or perhaps dinner?”
“Bring me a burger, make it rare” I replied. The waiter disappeared faster than I finished my phrase. I was tired; I closed my eyes for a moment and drifted into the comfort of darkness.
“Ma’am, here is your burger. Would you like to have more wine?” I opened my eyes; I meant to say “Yes”, but it was already too late. Red thick droplets lazily crawled down over the bare mirror's body, that a moment ago reflected my appearance. The sharp smell of iron unpleasantly tickled my nostrils, made me nauseous and I threw up all over the table, observing with a horror that the surface of the table absorbed blood and vomit and shined back again with virgin cleanliness…
I was not concerned anymore about my long and tragic past, nor my feelings of disgust, unanswered lingering around my heart. I was dining and it was about time, after all that wine….
The dark cloud of the sand storm were moving away, south, pushed by strong gusts of wind and pulled by the invisible horizon. The occasional bursts of flame appeared within the clouds, and disappeared with the speed of lightning.
Lazarus and his Camel were hiding from the storm in a deep pit that he dug earlier, before the storm. He looked at the distant clouds and tongues of flames and he thought he smelled the smoke of tobacco and a distant woman’s voice pleading for help. But he knew that deserts are like the afterlife famous for their illusions.