Poetry from Mykyta Ryzhykh

“Hello,” – the butterfly whispers quietly with the flapping of its wings,
The caterpillar moves its antenna in amazement.

“I was you,” – says the butterfly, – “
And I know what you are waiting for.
Your dream will come true very soon,
And you will fly into the sky, beautiful and pure."

That evening the caterpillar died, but the butterfly was never born.

The voracious phone is roaring loudly
Crocodiles of papers held together with a paper clip
Boss instructs to drink ink blots letters
Chitin grows on the back and computers glitch like rabbits
A piece of sandwich has dried up on my table
The head of the laboratory does not know that the work was paid for in blood
Another day when I have to report
Another day when I apply for a grant
Another day when I quarrel with environmental activists over laboratory rabbits
Another day I can't find a cure for cancer cells

the wind speaks
because someone knows how to listen
autumn gives birth to sensitivity

wife licks the spring wind
puddles of clouds cut in half

first part for death
second part for waiting for death

and the mirror is cracked
and the cracks are mirrorfull

the future is spreading over the sunday pan
the sun ripens like an apple
snakes twist like vines

the past burns out in the corner of the trash bin
cigarettes are the thing of the present
time flows off cheek like spit

birdsong awakens forgotten memories
lips trying to kiss silence
wife stealthily licks the spring wind

The noise that doesn't exist
Nobody came this time
As always

We have no choice but to let our shadows out into the street so that they knock on our door

Knocking on the door - sounds full of desperation
It is clear that there is no one there at the door
Obviously no one will come

black ridges of autumn
grow in the pupils of a bird
shot with a gun

The bread of black heads is getting stale
Someone is knocking on the door

The aluminum bird breaks all the hinges
Worms devour the remains of flesh

Let's pretend there's a blue sky overhead
Let's pretend that we live on a blue planet
Let's pretend that blue blood flows in the pipes
Let's watch the blue cats in the blue cemetery
Let's paint the blue people in the colors of the blue rainbow
Let's turn into blue butterflies on blue bushes
No words can convey the heavy blue sweat on the cheeks of the deceased

no one is born without a body
everyone is born without sin

weapons scream at the future dead
people don't fuck with strapons but kill each other with guns

man is a red triangle
the throat of the torn night itches with a ballistic rocket

night knocks on the back of the head and breaks the skull with a cast-iron finger
no one rises again
only the cemetery cries at the sight of flowers
flowers in turn dream of living without graves and mourning ribbons
and God's assistant presses the wrong button again

no one will crucify Jesus once again
because he will die

on the threshold of a silent tree
on the very first morning
of burning poverty

kitten in the red night sleeps motionless
abdominal dreams do not
bother the one who is not to be born

feline cat jesus went on vacation in order
to have a story

dead cat jesus went on vacation
to hang himself

the sky screams at the ant
because the ant is insanely small
and prays to the grass

grass is home
grass is glass
glass is a scar that will never heal

Dad came from the street and said that the air is red
Is it because the tulips are blooming? I asked my dad as I stumbled over my school bag.
That's why, dad replied.

I came to visit my dad with a bunch of flowers
I said to the grave photo: the air is green now
Is it because the tulips are blooming? - asked the father from the grave

For some reason I kept silent
A bird screamed on a lilac branch
It was still dark around
Morning still hasn't been invented

Reprint: The Wise owl

The loneliness of antiquity befell the cemetery
Butterflies played a symphony of heritage with their wings:

They were once in a cocoon
They once cocooned themselves
They were once their own parents

Flowers tickle themselves with playful wings
How much is the life of a butterfly if thanks to a butterfly spring comes and the cemetery lives again?

Reprint: The Wise owl

The sky is strangled without a noose
The word death is almost the same as the word deal
Who knows how to control death?
How competently does someone use their talent?
Body that belongs to Nobody

In the middle of the road, the body that was allowed to go to waste
Where does the unpronounceable road lead?
The gold of the red walls scratches the throat
Where does the path lead us along the night?
Black mother-of-pearl coffins underground
The wooden vision of a dead man blooms like a rose
Nobody knows what the word dead means
And overhead the black sky
And overhead the dawn of darkness

Reprint: The Wise owl

The child is looking for bruises
The child is looking for knees
The child is looking for legs
The child is looking for a torso
The child is looking for himself

A broken ladder rushes upwards

Reprint: Тriggerfish critical review

The weather forecast deceived
Tears instead of rain

Nobody is resurrected
Dahlias have blossomed

In every petal a breath of air
In every breath of air

God was called by his patronymic
Couldn’t imagine it as a feminine

They believed in God according to the national
Calling a patch of unfortunate land a state a country

Ripe apples in the garden
And tomato juice floated through the veins

In the spring, lips kiss
Because they can’t stand their ugliness

The weather forecast deceived
In the spring, bones come down on the grass

And nothing happens

Reprint: Тriggerfish critical review

belly torn in half by the birth of love
I'm leaving you kissing your leaving shadow

distance is the castle in which I placed myself
my love is your gift to me

you kiss in the dark with others and then fuck and I'm happy for you
you will forever remain unimaginably beautiful on the other side of the castle

I build distances so as not to harm you with my love
we say goodbye to each other like trains that never dare to approach each other

you will love and be able to make anyone happy
you can give anything but not to me

Reprint: Ouch!  

Three fingers crushed us with emptiness
A knot has wrapped the air around my neck
The alarm siren and explosion fatigue are drawn to the eyes

We fuck like corpses that will never be separated from each other again

Reprint: Ouch!  

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