A Cycle of Wartime Poems

[too red a spot]

intoxicating darkness
and each one goes alone in the dark
even if there is nowhere nearby to stop and catch your breath—only shoulders, only bodies
each one goes alone in the dark
until each one manages to understand
that there was never a reason to look for a pillar
all shoulders are too weak
for the heart that beats in you
for the voice that speaks inside you about the love which you’ve already stopped looking for
for the love that has become a sign
love for yourself and all that is dear to you
they don’t believe in it
although in this world
it resembles the sun more than anything else
and the world speaks in its own masculine voice
you are too red a spot on too gray-and-white a canvas
which makes the composition of the plot slovenly
soaked in red so inappropriately
while everything around strives for the usual blackness
overcoming the ugly weakness of the female body
stepping over fallen trees
wrapping the skin in several layers of Cordura
feeling the protection of silent iron in your hands
each one experiences
intoxicating darkness
and each one goes alone in the dark
pillars are not needed
the support kicks inside you and has a voice
all shoulders are too weak to withstand one heart
strong words are always too weak
a strong body is mortal
your voice does not die out if it knows how to exist
in every woman lives a soldier
who will have to go through the darkness alone
where all help is unnecessary
all shoulders superfluous
—everything heavy you handle with only two hands—
all loves lived and abandoned
all loneliness yours
all the night of the world like one rotation of the sun




[night, friend, and foe]

the night latches a bolt over you
takes a swing at you and drives you into the ground to your knees
like the Zmiy Horynych, which in a fairy tale is always defeated
although who will prevail in this night sky?
you swing back at it in return
and you drive the night into the ground to its ankles
the night clenches you in its fist
shows those wounded in battle to you in a dream
shows those it took
shows the street which ends at a checkpoint
the night latches a bolt over you and drives you into the ground to your waist
you hate the street it showed you because the street is covered in darkness
simultaneously your friend and enemy
but you’d rather go with one of them
either with a friend
or with an enemy
but not with the one in whom the friend and enemy live together
in the morning the sun hangs its white flag in the sky
the night spreads its white darkness over the sun
darkness swings at me and drives me into the ground up to my heart
I swing at the darkness and drive it into the ground up to its shoulders
darkness and I look at each other
up to our necks in the ground
darkness looks at me with her shoulders
I look at her with my heart
this way we can see each other better
darkness is my friend, and foe
she camouflages my body and my moves
she presses her shoulders on my heart
nothing will win night in this sky
none of us will lay down our arms




[about the truth]

The earth rids itself of the cold
slowly and totally
while you are overgrown with white petals of pain in springtime

the artistic value of a text suffers
when using words about victory
when making calls to keep on living
to live happily in spite of losses
in this country everything is a lie
except pain

in this country
entertaining light plots of intellect
are certainly lies
only pain is capable of telling the truth

the talent of estrangement and generalization dries up on asphalt
to hell with the philosophies of the world

and you dream at night
about the mothers of the dead
who carry stones to graves among the thickets
who will forget themselves
but not the sons under the tombstones

and you dream of the murdered
whom you loved

and someone asks for a goodbye hug
and you hug him
he says at least someone
must never let go
let it be you

and the other one asks you during the fight
if you’re still alive
be the last one like the last lucky card to be drawn by chance with melted eyes in the fire
if anything happens, don’t cry for me

and you dream of the loss of one
that will destroy you faster than a bullet
that last shot at love

and you dream of cities left under occupation
no liberation will erase their destruction
they will never find out whether they were ever whole
the truth has always been in this destruction
and tranquility was a lie

Siversky Donets flows under occupation
the Sea of Azov strikes in the direction of the Black Sea
cities are drowning in the black truth above them
they say
water from all over the world is water from our torn cavities

and you dream of a daughter who has been waiting forever
for you to return from this war
your gray shadow of pain and ashes
that has become overgrown with white blossoms of losses
and breathes on all the flames

our bodies have the color of the forest and the earth
like spirits
our rage, our choice to stand and kill
our consent to die slowly from battlefield wounds,
our consent, if necessary, to leave our parents without a body or even a grave

the state and the military lose flesh simultaneously
the state and the military die at the same time
the state and the military drink from the chalice of waiting and tempering together