Poetry from Mykyta Ryzhykh

My green throat has turned into a garden
I have to be silent a lot
I have to drink a lot so that the trees grow
I have to breathe quietly so as not to frighten the birds
I don't want to scare those who are happy

damp forest
how does the butterfly come out
heat from the clip

Shh shh she she she along with your hoarse cough
Leaves fall to the ground and you don't understand
Will tomorrow knock on your door again

explosions instead of music
death instead of sleep
butterflies everywhere butterflies

A huge bird with black glasses would have arrived
And taught us all to fly

We've never been here anyway

My thoughts live without me
In pursuit of them I stumble
And I die
The tide of the river

¶ spring warmth jumped to my knees ¶
♪ and they stopped freezing ♪
Thats how the dawn began

What do we gather instead of mushrooms after the war?

the dead man was smiling that day

Perfectionism is good

Perfectionism is not always good
Perfectionism is not necessarily good
Perfectionism is not very good
Perfectionism is not good
Perfectionism is not good at all
Perfectionism is bad
Perfectionism is very bad.
Perfectionism is often very bad
Perfectionism is quite often very bad.
Perfectionism is always very bad

Perfectionism is evil

(Based on a literary ballad)

The clock is knocking, knocking on the door:
Behind the door he, you just believe!
A gray-haired old man enters the house:
"Here I come."
"Are you an undertaker?
You dare not ask
Who should be buried?
"Who, why - I don't care."
"Then take, grab the log,
Drank, knock and prepare the coffin,
To bury my love."

dad mom me and other deaths
children nursery gardens and other shadows of the past
days of the night and other seconds
at one point everything burned down and turned
into a fungus mushroom nuclear mushroom from Hiroshima

autumn kills itself in advance in spring
the rain comes through and gets inside the heart
shells play snails
worms go underground
and in the eyes of a continuous prison

love really exists
but only in books