• Poetry

    Rubik’s Cube

    A mystery that hardly anyone can solve. A game hardly anyone can play. A problem that barely anyone can solve. A subject that hardly anyone can manage for a long time. She was created for intelligent playing, selfish keeping and skillful observation. Her other name is Magic Cube. She’s made of undiscovered magic and unveiling. Her goal is to provoke and create problems. She wants to cause a serious loss of concentration. She can drive crazy anyone who is not consistent. Laughing treacherously at everyone, but nobody laughs at her. She was created for intelligent minds, most of them don’t dare to get closer to her. They show their true…

  • Poetry

    There’s nothing more dangerous than a woman which is well-read

    There’s nothing more dangerous than a woman which is well-read. She knows the depths in which you would immediately drown. She swims in different genres with tears in her eyes, creating unique worlds and emotions, unfamiliar to you. When she talks, she makes love with words you’ve never heard of. You and she aren’t on the same level. She doesn’t know about the rumors around her, but she’s always part of them. Laughing and proud, she has everything a man only desires. Worlds and characters arise of her which are contradicting her personality, but they fascinate her. Many novels write precisely about her, about her walk as if the whole…

  • Poetry

    Man is shaped by what everyone wants, but never into what he wants to be

    Man is appalled by another man, when exposed to the disgust of his existence. Where there is no parable and we’re all just dots at an intangible distance, too close to each other, touching, but we don’t make a difference, we only impede vision. Too similar to each other, dark and small, we don’t belong to ourselves, we don’t belong to others. But a man could never have guessed that this body would be such a burden, though it’s only a sign of punctuation, the subject of many tragedies and the inevitable part of hyperbole. The body’s being taxidermied every time it surrenders to an animal inside, to the sin,…

  • Poetry

    Ice cube

    You let me go. With trembling hands, you ease the grip. I slide between your fingers. I kiss the air, ecstatically. My ignorance sublimates to nothingness. Death looks beautiful and latent. I’ve collapsed with one touch. Everything I see around me, only myself… I’m dead, right? “It’s a glass,” the reflection says. I breathed with relief. Did I need to do that? I’m watching paradise. I see your infinite look. Flushed with anger, flooded with tears. Am I not worth forgiving? Am I worthy of your suffering? You pour the best champagne, I’m fighting your ice structure. As you melt, I choke more and more. I am drowning in glittering…

  • Poetry

    Days like these

    There are days when my memories slip under my skin. I feel them moving through my body, take forms of different people and feelings, I feel them watching me as I look at myself. I feel my memories wink at me, as if they were living beings inside me, not moments left a long time ago. It took me a long time to wake up, it took me a long time to encourage them to appear when I never expected them. Days like these come, when I watch how my memories, by accident throw things in front of me again, things I’ve never faced, but I convinced myself that I…

  • Poetry

    I could fly over the entire world crashing with my wings at people

    Through all limitations and restrictions, like a bird with a ring around my neck, somewhat insidious, it seems, I flew through the gates of the pupils of people without eyes, recording every place I went to, carrying metal wires around my thighs. I took pictures with my eyes, of every moment that was a little more special than the previous one, and I found out that I could fly over the entire world crashing with my wings at people and barriers just to lure them into my lap. But, another discovery, another barrier in front of me, last stop, last place, pleasant to the lenses of my eyes. A place…

  • Poetry

    Don’t mince your words

    The nuisance I cause with my tongue out, in the form of sadism, to them is the nudity of unattractive looks. When bitter words cling to their minds like leeches, sucking their blood, seemingly pure because they always say what they think. Of course. Where are they now, those hollow throats, piled like garbage, with crumpled morale, overdosed on imagination, swallowing only lies to feel worthy? One degree higher on the truth ladder. One step closer to the tongue extraction in front of them, overtaking of everything I have to be. I’m targeting a circle similar to the identical ones. No, it’s not an arrow I adore, it’s not a…

  • Poetry

    As long as our hearts are paper, and our hands are ink, the poetry will exist

    As long as our hearts are paper, and our hands are ink, the poetry will exist. For the Poetry, A man is the Word. A word that has escaped from the paper, waiting to feel alive again, to go back where it belongs- on the paper. The moment we inhale Life, we exhale Poetry, along with all the thoughts and words buried inside us for a long time. For the Man, Poetry exists under the skin, in the arteries through which every word passes. It belongs to everyone, everyone feels it. It rules over our emotions, it transforms into endless lines of words. Poetry is the inevitable shadow of every…