As the Awaiting Unfolds

I’m a guest who comes before
All the ones still at the door.
I stand and wait - untouched, unseen,
Lingering in hush, serene.

I drink the calm of hollow space,
Where floorboards whisper, bend with grace.
They speak with pain and a strident tone:
“Why do you wait here alone?”

The air is thick, it grips the room,
Stale and heavy - sealed in gloom.
Stand up!
Go!
Open windows!
The house exhales, the air inflows.

Outside the open window, a river gushes—
Strong! Rapid!
Takes away what was unrooted,
Carrying off what lay ragged.

Stormy waters strike with force,
Breaking through the earth’s embrace.
Nothing lingers. It’s my choice,
Spinning into its wild chase.

The balmy air flows free.
Sun spills gold upon the floor.
Currents rise, they sing to me.
Someone opens the door.

A throng flows through the gate,
The ones I’d longed to see and wait.
The floorboards don’t ask, but moan:
“When will you be alone?”

22.03.2025

Whānau

In the tribe, bridges aren’t burned, they are turned
into planks, into nails, into nests of a bird,
into shelters for wandering winds,
iron beams, and ropes that bend,
into all that paves the way to realms
where skies extend and fade.

In the tribe, bridges aren’t lost,
they are tossed
into hands that shape and mold,
turning dust from heaven’s hold
into towers, stairs, and stone,
rising high where stars have shone.

In the tribe, they move as one,
like a tree in rain and sun,
roots unburned, branches sway,
woven nerves that light the way,
growing, reaching, branching free,
united, pulsing like a bee,
never falling, only spun -
who was lost becomes someone.

But we still don’t understand,
the tribe’s not part, but something grand.

Пикалёво

Город «Седых Стен» в далекой стране
Печально известен на синей земле.
Бледные лёгкие дышат неровно,
Сдавлена легкость в них определённо.

Здесь тени не бродят и мраморно-белы,
Воздушно прикрыты, повсюду наделы.
Скованный, хриплый кашель подростка -
Им платит родитель, работая жестко.

В обычную смену, уходит с рассветом,
Домой возвращается лишь за обедом,
И после он занят до темноты.
С ним белые стены завода на ты.

В клубах (задыхаясь) цементовой пыли,
Дети играют в новой квартире.
Яркое солнце на белом асфальте,
Белой траве, будто в базальте,

Светит так ярко. Несбывшийся дождь…
В легких свинцом, что не продохнёшь.
Лишь иногда вспомнят порой,
Что есть где-то там город другой.

Трава там зелёная, как после дождя.
И полной грудью там дышат всегда.
И люди не платят здоровьем своим.
Безжалостен в легких кашля нажим.

Клокочет и рвется дыханье, сбиваясь,
Булькает словно ливень внутри.
И вымыть наружу неистово хочет
«Седой этот Город» в белой пыли.

18.03.2025

О городе Пикалёво: https://rodinananeve.ru/v-pyli-pikalyovo/

Dancing Souls

I take the guitar in my hands,
My fingers dance on slender strands.
Swift, vivid, and bold are my motions,
I haven’t even touched my full emotions.

Yesterday, I woke to the song of strangers,
The travelers’ sound, like fleeting rangers.
The sun played on their soul’s strings,
With warmth and light that morning brings.

My hands are steady, movements clear,
Did you know? Yesterday, I was here.
It carried me away on moment’s wave,
And now I’m dancing, feeling brave.

16.03.2025

The despairing calm

A despairing calm,
desperately calm.

It sits behind,
like a noble hind.

The hunter is close.
Hear him,
Feel him.

Breathe.
Breathe.
Breathe
out.

It whispers:
“Calm,
calm,
calm 

down.”

It presses.
Sways,
sways,
sways

to lull.

Pointless.
Cramped.
Dull.

Where am I?
What am I?

Suddenly -

By a strange coincidence.
Maybe by accident,
maybe by design,
by someone
or something.

I take a sip of Reality.
It burns me,
but I sink into it.
I wear it,
taste it,
want more.

But -

Again,
again,
again -
(for some reason)
I fall,
Fall,
FALL.

And here it is.
The despairing calm.

15.03.2025

Wounded sky

Carry away, oh clouds so high,
This aching heart into the sky.
Let golden dust just drift and spray,
Lost on the wind, so far away.

The black tower looms, its windows grin,
Somewhere there, he is within.
Blond hair, a trembling voice,
No matter what shook his choice.

A pensive man stands by the pane,

Watching clouds that churn with rain
Heavy, thick, they swell and rise,
A storm reflected in his eyes.

He sees himself outside the room.
He wouldn’t beg to heal his gloom,
The heavens have no care for him.
He’s just a shadow, fading dim.

Take it all back, oh clouds so wide,
Leave not a drop, not one behind.
The cold seeps deep into his skin,
As sorrow claws its way within.

14.03.2025

The Unsilence (The Danube, Novi Sad, Serbia)

The disappearing river whispers to the bank,
Watery threads rush ashore.
Its silver fingers scratch secrets on the sand.
You know, everyone was sworn

to silence. But not water.
No one could make it quiet.
Does time drift like a drifter?
Does it flow like a riot?

I’m gonna see my man
In vanishing waves, so still and cold,
Until they kiss the silent land,
Leaving only silt and gold.

The abandoned river whispers
Its last farewell song.
Time has ended
At the break of dawn.

The morning sky spills amber light,
Reflected in the restless tide.
A swan’s wings flash soft and white,
As rushes bow from side to side.

I’m gonna toss a piece of crust
Into the flow of fading muss,
Until the current turns to dust,
And leaves behind hollow trust.
09.03.2025

That Cat

Do you know that cat?
He always roams around,
a grey-headed wanderer
with an endless meow.


Soft paws trace the road,
gliding over rooftops.
A silent leap - he lands on a balcony
among frozen peonies.


Yellow eyes watch intently,
unblinking, still.
He sees the darkening night
and the moon hanging chill.


Gloom descends upon the city,
whispers drift through the world.
They speak together -
that cat and a blackened spot.


Fleeting murmurs
on a wooden branch in the park -
only the old oak knows
what was said in the dark.


The city breathes in fog
and exhales dim light,
the night air’s coolness
whispering prayers at twilight.


A quick slip into the shop -
white concrete, creaking floors.
Do you know that cat?
He’s always near, but never your’s.

06.03.2025

Ищущий дом

Я вплетаю себя в улицы
Старых мощёных дорог,
Запутано движение ног,
Сбивается, суетится.

Я сливаюсь с дворами.
Здесь собаки скулят
И глазами сверлят,
Наблюдая за новыми лицами.

Я взяла в займы это место,
Одолжила здешний язык.
Лишь тяжёлый акцент озорник
Выдаёт мою дату приезда.

«Ты от куда?» - спросит мужик.

Улыбнусь, но корни мои
Повсеместно произрастают
Из тяжёлой и тёмной земли,
Где Нигде и Ничто обитают.

Бестелесый, бесшумный, печальный
Я блуждающий призрак, ищущий дом.
Заточённый между мирами
Неприкаянный узник в месте чужом.
05.03.2025