***
Тhe ridge of silence is strewn with thorns of crunchy dying leaves.
***
Fire gives birth and kills
new perspectives
***
go(o)d morning
somebody need a reason
for a bee to buzz not so loudly
***
history of prisons teaches silence
killer becomes suicidal
the sky breathes snowy immortality
white as if no one died
***
Wheat of centuries
He was forcibly resettled he sowed and sowed until the very moment of resettlement
Collectivization of Soviet misfortune
Slavery of the collective farm boomerang
He was torn from his native land lay down in the wheat and choked on the aroma
So the years passed
We were all drowned like a Soviet village during industrialization
We are all choked by the scent of carnivores
***
We will all die from the needle of spring
No one understands how people who are still alive die inside themselves
We will all die from AIDS inhaling the scent of dead flowers
No one will help anyone to be lonely like the cry of a newborn
We will all die and no one will help us
Snow falls through a hole in my hand
Overdose on love
Nobody really loves anyone
Marijuanas needs needles powders wedding-rings
Each of us is dependent
Each of us is lonely
Each of us will die
Tattoo instead of skin
AIDS instead of eternal love
Light of a night star
And suddenly a stone void
We were all stones in our mothers belly before we were born
We all freeze daily in the cold winter
The black cemetery hides in the darkness of the night
White clouds envelop a white bird in snow
***
I've always had a crush on sexy comic book superheroes
I always burned stupid comics at the stake
I always burned my lonely heart at the stake
I was always looking for someone I could become a heart donor for
I always mixed my tears with sperm
I'm still not sure that people know how to love
Im still not sure Im human
I don't even know who I am
I'm just one letter without an alphabet
And under my bed is a bottomless cemetery
***
Kill me with your love
I have a lot to tell you
Heaven stumbles
The night rots
Revive me with water from snow and fire
The day turns to stone
Silence has a lot to tell you
And the last butterflies burn in the stomach of the executed summer
Death from the letters of a learned name
The stream of war ---- which the thirsty fill with their own blood
***
Black water flows down the cliff of a flat [as before] Earth
The piano of bones plays the plague saraband
And the moon above the heads of the trees turns red from the shame of the angels
God's feathered assistants again pressed the wrong button on the control panel
The cemetery flows down the pupil of memories
Boom boom
End of [hi]story
***
breakdown
catalysis
they will catch you
run
fall down
fatalization
they will release you
into the emptiness of the waters-silence
***
the air is free
first spring butterfly died
silent trees drink sadness
***
winds shod a bird lost in the snow
the bird pecks lost in the wind
the world is blooming like a flower
dead pilots float out of the cloud-cemetery
death speaks the language of kittens
the abdominal cavity of the mother cat is like a fried frying pan
cat jesus is not dead
cat babies die
ok let them die
god-man again pressed the wrong veterinary button
***
feathers turn to fire
the sun turns into a bird
and sakura blossoms-rays
***
unhappy cloud shadow
trees embrace the sky
in spring joy
2 thoughts on “Poetry from Mykyta Ryzhykh”
“history of prisons teaches silence
killer becomes suicidal
the sky breathes snowy immortality
white as if no one died”
Mykyta, “I”m one letter without an alphabet…” That line will live with me forever. I love your poetry. As only an aspiring poet myself, I feel my chances of achieving my goal are perhaps reduced; perhaps it is a cultural thing. But please, don’t you ever stop verifying. Thanks for sharing.
“history of prisons teaches silence
killer becomes suicidal
the sky breathes snowy immortality
white as if no one died”
…feels like…
https://youtu.be/3m1NNbhpTj4?si=CmmBfmpscgksBj4I
Mykyta, “I”m one letter without an alphabet…” That line will live with me forever. I love your poetry. As only an aspiring poet myself, I feel my chances of achieving my goal are perhaps reduced; perhaps it is a cultural thing. But please, don’t you ever stop verifying. Thanks for sharing.