Beyond Six Rivers

Borges said, in an interview, that it is pointless to find new metaphors, similes. Life is always going to be a dream, it won’t suddenly turn into a metro train. I look at the closed library and think. Faces of my classmates suddenly flash.  Awkward smiles, shrill voices and reluctant kisses. And, a closed library. […]

There is nothing to do. Except end. The dreams disappear. I disappear because I am a dream, too. I am my own imagination. I did not exist before I existed. In one dream, I remember dying. I asked myself as I felt myself vanishing, would I become me again? The wall of paintings. The pond […]

My lips, wine stained, remember the brush of eucalyptus leaves. If you must know me, go back in the past. I am over. In the present, surrounded with only memories of sand, I only remain. There is too much water here. Sometimes, I miss its absence. To remember water. I try to remember what it […]

War, like love, exists only in my imagination. A flickering light. In this darkness, I exist only in my memory. A window. So many sounds. In it, there might exist the sound of my mulberry tree’s fall. Must I know? Friends from my childhood rise and fall to this violin’s sound. The past is falling. […]

Light makes everything visible. Separates everything. Makes everything clear. Light in moderation, of course. Sunlight. Maybe I should get some cigarettes. There is something inhuman about light. Light brags by being. People on the streets look. At what? Mozart’s music on a violin. One Day in the Life of Ivan Denisovich. Has misery been going […]

I’d realized that the essential thing was to give condemned man a chance. Even one in a thousand was quite enough to sort things out. For instance, I imagined they could find some chemical compound for the patient to take (I thought of him as the patient) which would kill him nine times out of […]

A white owl on the other building. A blackboard. Something about Homer. Afternoons had stopped visiting us. They didn’t really care about literary theory. Sometimes, looking at that pale, fading light of an early evening (which always has a hint of darkness), I wondered if it would be better to be an afternoon. Or, an […]

The window. Green. Pond. A man. Crows’ sound. This is a different sky. I know. The trees trying to touch it are not the same as the trees in my sky.

We are all waiting for the trial.

It is blue. (Or green). Some shade of the sky. I remember my life in colour. Which is strange considering how much I like the absence of colour in photographs or films. Or maybe not, you know. I have always thought that black and white are colours too. Black is the colour of absence of […]