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(TIME)

…as time flies fast – unless GOD cuts its wings.

But then time seems to simply start to run

out of space. Time sometimes only brings

slow-motion sighing from the setting sun.

Yes, time can heal; but time can also kill

like a wind blowing out candles. When a rain-

storm starts, you feel all you can feel until

you come to find out if it is in vain…

…as time flies fast – unless GOD cuts its wings. But then time seems to simply start to run out of space. Time sometimes only brings slow-motion sighing from the setting sun. Yes, time can heal; but time can also kill like a wind blowing out candles. When a rainstorm starts, you feel all you can feel until you come to find out if it is in vain…

January 2004

(ДОРОГОЙ ВЕРЫ)

…снова, снова и снова.

Будучи не только словом,

небо стало Дорогой

Веры, ведущей к БОГУ…

…снова, снова и снова. Будучи не только словом, небо стало Дорогой Веры, ведущей к БОГУ…

Август 2004

(THE WILL)

…around a parking lot

of words that may be not

there. You need some more

time for another chance

to understand why no war

of words makes any sense.

When the stars leave the sky,

sometimes it starts to drown

in the dark rising high

enough to erase a town.

Always obeying the Will

of GOD, things go still…

…around a parking lot of words that may be not there. You need some more time for another chance to understand why no war of words makes any sense. When the stars leave the sky, sometimes it starts to drown in the dark rising high enough to erase a town. Always obeying the Will of GOD, things go still…

December 2004

(ONLY ONE)

…sure that GOD is

THE ONLY ONE

WHO can know this.

If time can run

out, can there be

an End of Time?

Or is Time free

of ending? I’m…

…sure that GOD is THE ONLY ONE WHO can know this. If time can run out, can there be an End of Time? Or is Time free of ending? I’m…

September 2005

(BEFORE IT’S HIS WILL)

…before it’s HIS Will.

Another day

begins to fill

another way

to a parking lot

of words. At night,

you catch a thought

train and write

you don’t really know

what. Only HE

does but doesn’t show

what it should be…

…before it’s HIS Will. Another day begins to fill another way to a parking lot of words. At night, you catch a thought train and write you don’t really know what. Only HE does but doesn’t show what it should be…

November 2005

(BOTH WAYS)

…which sounds and smells like looks

can be deceptive to taste.

They differ in different books.

Many words go to waste.

The present becomes the past

whereas the future is clear

only to GOD. Your last

chance to defeat your fear

may be right now. Or may-

be some other time. Regret

is of the past. One day

you may get what they get.

Pain and pleasure, of course,

are of the present, like joy.

Sorrow tries to destroy

everything that is, was

and will be. A night sky

speaks to an empty street.

Say hallo, then goodbye,

hoping that you will meet

again after another night.

You are getting ahead

of yourself. Out of sight,

you live in your own head

as if it was a room

or an entire block

of flats. Haunted by gloom,

you dwell on top of a clock

tower of ivory or

whatever you think it is

you can see in the freeze

frame of your mind. A door-

way leads both ways: outside

and inside. There’s another

doorway where you can hide,

getting farther and farther

away. Under the bruised

sky in the afterglow,

a multitude of unused

rain clouds crawl in slow

motion to turn on the black

coffee machine of the night

and then maybe come back

in coffee-black or milk-white…

…which sounds and smells like looks can be deceptive to taste. They differ in different books. Many words go to waste. The present becomes the past whereas the future is clear only to GOD. Your last chance to defeat your fear may be right now. Or maybe some other time. Regret is of the past. One day you may get what they get. Pain and pleasure, of course, are of the present, like joy. Sorrow tries to destroy everything that is, was and will be. A night sky speaks to an empty street. Say hallo, then goodbye, hoping that you will meet again after another night. You are getting ahead of yourself. Out of sight, you live in your own head as if it was a room or an entire block of flats. Haunted by gloom, you dwell on top of a clock tower of ivory or whatever you think it is you can see in the freeze frame of your mind. A doorway leads both ways: outside and inside. There’s another doorway where you can hide, getting farther and farther away. Under the bruised sky in the afterglow, a multitude of unused rain clouds crawl in slow motion to turn on the black coffee machine of the night and then maybe come back in coffee-black or milk-white…

June 2006

(DIMENSIONS OF DOUBT)

…other dimensions of doubt

only GOD can figure out.

Various memories

may seem ready to freeze

in the form of plain prose.

Or in verse. Getting close

to repeating each day

like a film on replay,

time can feel like a place

on your mind when you face…

…other dimensions of doubt only GOD can figure out. Various memories may seem ready to freeze in the form of plain prose. Or in verse. Getting close to repeating each day like a film on replay, time can feel like a place on your mind when you face…

August 2006

(ДАЖЕ ВО СНЕ)

…никто, кроме БОГА, не

вечен даже во сне.

Снова начавшись сначала,

день прошел мимо причала

и превратился в вечер,

который так же не вечен,

как и все, что есть вокруг.

Включая тебя, мой друг…

…никто, кроме БОГА, не вечен даже во сне. Снова начавшись сначала, день прошел мимо причала и превратился в вечер, который так же не вечен, как и все, что есть вокруг. Включая тебя, мой друг…

Октябрь 2006

(IN A WINDOW FRAME)

…picture in a window frame

painted by the Fall.

Everything stays the same

until it doesn’t. All

you see can always change.

Looks like it is GOD’s Law,

and Its nature is flaw-

less. There is another strange…

…picture in a window frame painted by the Fall. Everything stays the same until it doesn’t. All you see can always change. Looks like it is GOD’s Law, and Its nature is flawless. There is another strange…

October 2006

(TO EACH UNTRAINED EYE)

…to each untrained eye

that looks up at the sky.

A lot of time has passed

from the future into the past

through the present. This time

is beginning to rhyme

with that time, telling the truth

about somebody’s lost youth.

Time is the Answering Machine

of GOD WHO remains unseen…

…to each untrained eye that looks up at the sky. A lot of time has passed from the future into the past through the present. This time is beginning to rhyme with that time, telling the truth about somebody’s lost youth. Time is the Answering Machine of GOD WHO remains unseen…

November 2006

(STUCK IN THE PAST)

…in the afterglow,

the wind starts to blow

at a bare tree

on which plastic bags

grow quite free

of charge like legs

on all the floors

of a building. I

see lots of doors

and windows. The sky-

line shrinks this space

with driving rain

clouds on the face

of the moon. Train

windows go dark.

Thick crowns of trees

conceal a park.

Streets start to freeze.

Some call it a day,

though it is night.

Some seek to stay

out of sight

of their own eyes.

Stuck in the past,

they recognize

a time that has passed.

Only GOD can return

it now. Taking a turn…

…in the afterglow, the wind starts to blow at a bare tree on which plastic bags grow quite free of charge like legs on all the floors of a building. I see lots of doors and windows. The skyline shrinks this space with driving rain clouds on the face of the moon. Train windows go dark. Thick crowns of trees conceal a park. Streets start to freeze. Some call it a day, though it is night. Some seek to stay out of sight of their own eyes. Stuck in the past, they recognize a time that has passed. Only GOD can return it now. Taking a turn…

January 2007

(ВОПРОС THAT REALLY MATTERS)

…of this World. Only GOD

has all the answers to

all the questions you could

задать за месяц, год

и даже Вечность, ту

Вечность, что ЕГО Суд

may one day promise you

в Аду или в Раю.

Видимо, человек

не может дать ответ

ни на один вопрос

that really matters. Check

it for yourself. You get

nothing. You’re not the Boss…

…of this World. Only GOD has all the answers to all the questions you could задать за месяц, год и даже Вечность, ту Вечность, что ЕГО Суд may one day promise you в Аду или в Раю. Видимо, человек не может дать ответ ни на один вопрос that really matters. Check it for yourself. You get nothing. You’re not the Boss…

February/Февраль 2007

(SEA OF SNOW)

…seeing a sea of snow.

It looks like a prophesy

of some kind. You slow

down your eyes to see

it become as clear as

a sea that’s totally calm.

It can be in a glass

of ice freezing the palm

of your hand on a beach

that looks like a backyard.

It seems out of reach,

but it’s still not that hard

to touch the face of the earth

hidden behind a mask

of snow. It’s giving birth

to what you fear to ask

about. What does it mean

to fear hearing a voice

that can never be seen?

It leaves you little choice

but to cross the skyline

that separates the past

from the future – a sign

of a present you’ve passed.

Hear the sound of a fright

train of thoughts in your head

crossing your line of sight.

As this train goes mad,

it gets loaded with fear,

and that fear overwhelms

you. It is getting near

all the possible realms

you don’t want to go to,

trying to tell which one

is which out of too

many. In the long run,

they encompass the same

end of an empty street

that has a scary name.

It’s too hard to repeat

it, watching another night

freeze in the window frame.

You can hear that fright

train type your first name

on the railroad track,

making it easy to spell

it out all the way back

to the first farewell.

GOD is certainly GOOD

and undeniably GREAT,

but somehow you still brood

over your own fate…

…seeing a sea of snow. It looks like a prophesy of some kind. You slow down your eyes to see it become as clear as a sea that’s totally calm. It can be in a glass of ice freezing the palm of your hand on a beach that looks like a backyard. It seems out of reach, but it’s still not that hard to touch the face of the earth hidden behind a mask of snow. It’s giving birth to what you fear to ask about. What does it mean to fear hearing a voice that can never be seen? It leaves you little choice but to cross the skyline that separates the past from the future – a sign of a present you’ve passed. Hear the sound of a fright train of thoughts in your head crossing your line of sight. As this train goes mad, it gets loaded with fear, and that fear overwhelms you. It is getting near all the possible realms you don’t want to go to, trying to tell which one is which out of too many. In the long run, they encompass the same end of an empty street that has a scary name. It’s too hard to repeat it, watching another night freeze in the window frame. You can hear that fright train type your first name on the railroad track, making it easy to spell it out all the way back to the first farewell. GOD is certainly GOOD and undeniably GREAT, but somehow you still brood over your own fate…

February 2007

(СНОВА AND AGAIN)

…включая множество мест

в городе на краю

воспоминаний. Пол-

day stretches from east to west

along an avenue

like an enormous wall.

Он склеен из двух частей

речи уже два года

after you didn’t stay

on the disputed border

этих дней и ночей

среди знакомых слов.

Trying to break that chain

of events you think of,

взгляни на солнце в Руке

ГОСПОДА, каждый год

меняющего Мир снова

and again till it’s okay,

or till the Hand of GOD

makes the World start over…

…включая множество мест в городе на краю воспоминаний. Пол-day stretches from east to west along an avenue like an enormous wall. Он склеен из двух частей речи уже два года after you didn’t stay on the disputed border этих дней и ночей среди знакомых слов. Trying to break that chain of events you think of, взгляни на солнце в Руке ГОСПОДА, каждый год меняющего Мир снова and again till it’s okay, or till the Hand of GOD makes the World start over…

Март/March 2007

(WITH TOO MANY MEMORIES)

…about. As long as there is

at least one letter or sound,

the World keeps turning around

but sometimes seems to freeze.

Thus It follows the Will

of GOD no one can defy

even under a still,

let alone changing sky.

In the silence of the setting sun

and the sound of the rising wind,

it looks like the day has begun

to end and the night to win

its time in the window frame.

Your mind seems to be set

to take part in a game

of window chess on a flat

screen. Mirrored by every pane,

trail the railroad track

to the memory lane

that’s bound to take you back.

The moon is full like a glass

of milk, or empty like

any lonely man’s life

that is starting to pass.

There seems to be no

one here or out there,

standing in the falling snow

that keeps dyeing the air

white. Fading into empty space,

the river is covered with mist.

It erases the face

of somebody you missed

by a minute when you

were crossing that avenue

in the middle of Minsk.

Your heart keeps breaking like

the dawn of the day before

you met someone whose life

meant to you even more

than your own, let alone

all the places and times

you have seen on your phone,

taking pictures of crimes

and crime scenes full of nights

killing days and then days

killing nights with the lights

of too many replays.

Some then turn into dust

drawings on melted sand

for one more present passed

to the past by the hand

of the clock that can’t tell

the time from its own face,

or from a farewell

when more time floods this place

like a few years ago.

You barely recall when it

happened but think you’d know

if you returned to that street

and rented a room for two

nights and another day

to stay together with too

many memories. Stay

as long as at least one word

at the crossroads of night

and day seems to be heard

and said to be right to write…

…about. As long as there is at least one letter or sound, the World keeps turning around but sometimes seems to freeze. Thus It follows the Will of GOD no one can defy even under a still, let alone changing sky. In the silence of the setting sun and the sound of the rising wind, it looks like the day has begun to end and the night to win its time in the window frame. Your mind seems to be set to take part in a game of window chess on a flat screen. Mirrored by every pane, trail the railroad track to the memory lane that’s bound to take you back. The moon is full like a glass of milk, or empty like any lonely man’s life that is starting to pass. There seems to be no one here or out there, standing in the falling snow that keeps dyeing the air white. Fading into empty space, the river is covered with mist. It erases the face of somebody you missed by a minute when you were crossing that avenue in the middle of Minsk. Your heart keeps breaking like the dawn of the day before you met someone whose life meant to you even more than your own, let alone all the places and times you have seen on your phone, taking pictures of crimes and crime scenes full of nights killing days and then days killing nights with the lights of too many replays. Some then turn into dust drawings on melted sand for one more present passed to the past by the hand of the clock that can’t tell the time from its own face, or from a farewell when more time floods this place like a few years ago. You barely recall when it happened but think you’d know if you returned to that street and rented a room for two nights and another day to stay together with too many memories. Stay as long as at least one word at the crossroads of night and day seems to be heard and said to be right to write…

March 2007

(GOD’S WILL)

…that seems made of gold.

The moon, I’m told,

may also be made

of things that don’t fade,

like some precious stone.

Whip out your phone,

for it could be soft

goat cheese with salt,

though it looks hard

as rocks or your heart

on a railroad track.

Being played back,

it’s seen and heard

in every word

and every wheel

of driving steel

rain. The rain

draws the City of

Minsk I’m in love

with like I was in

love with you. Win

or lose this time,

thoughts seem to rhyme

like streets with your feet.

The city cake

looks like a glazed lake

the night likes to eat.

The sky’s sown with stars.

The central park

is circled by cars.

The sky grows dark

clouds like cotton in

fields. The wind

obeys GOD’s Will.

So does everyone,

including the sun…

…that seems made of gold. The moon, I’m told, may also be made of things that don’t fade, like some precious stone. Whip out your phone, for it could be soft goat cheese with salt, though it looks hard as rocks or your heart on a railroad track. Being played back, it’s seen and heard in every word and every wheel of driving steel rain. The rain draws the City of Minsk I’m in love with like I was in love with you. Win or lose this time, thoughts seem to rhyme like streets with your feet. The city cake looks like a glazed lake the night likes to eat. The sky’s sown with stars. The central park is circled by cars. The sky grows dark clouds like cotton in fields. The wind obeys GOD’s Will. So does everyone, including the sun…

April 2007

(BEHIND THE BLINDS)

…behind a parking lot

of words meaning new things.

There is a shadow thought

starting to spread its wings

in your head. It reminds

you of a memory

you once thought you were free

from, hiding behind the blinds

that separate your past

from your present. The room

is being filled with gloom

you are trying your best

to find a way out of.

But only GOD can help

you get out of the hell

in your head – with Hope, Love,

and Faith. You walk up to

the window and watch the night

swallow the street that’s too

long not to slip out of sight…

…behind a parking lot of words meaning new things. There is a shadow thought starting to spread its wings in your head. It reminds you of a memory you once thought you were free from, hiding behind the blinds that separate your past from your present. The room is being filled with gloom you are trying your best to find a way out of. But only GOD can help you get out of the hell in your head – with Hope, Love, and Faith. You walk up to the window and watch the night swallow the street that’s too long not to slip out of sight…

May 2007

(КАЖДОГО СЛОВА)

…символов, знаков, примет

и знамений прошедших лет.

В букве каждого слога

каждого Слова БОГА

неимоверно много

смысла. Но этот смысл

часто скрыт среди чисел…

…символов, знаков, примет и знамений прошедших лет. В букве каждого слога каждого Слова БОГА неимоверно много смысла. Но этот смысл часто скрыт среди чисел…

Июнь 2007

(NUMBER OF WORDS)

…obeying the Will of GOD.

GOD is THE ONE WHO made

the World before the Flood,

and HE can make It fade.

Since time out of mind,

minds have run out of time.

You see a road unwind

like a line to a rhyme

with a number of words

you’ve been trying to get

out of your head. It works

just like an old TV set

showing a sparkly neck-

lace of a city night:

everything is ink-black

or writing-paper-white.

The World began with One

Word, and It likely will

end with One when the Sun

is switched off and goes still…

…obeying the Will of GOD. GOD is THE ONE WHO made the World before the Flood, and HE can make It fade. Since time out of mind, minds have run out of time. You see a road unwind like a line to a rhyme with a number of words you’ve been trying to get out of your head. It works just like an old TV set showing a sparkly necklace of a city night: everything is ink-black or writing-paper-white. The World began with One Word, and It likely will end with One when the Sun is switched off and goes still…

June 2007

(SOMEWHERE OUT OF SIGHT)

…to try to start anew

and maybe make some sense

out of what you knew

when you had your first chance

to see the shooting scars

on the face of the night

sky. You stare at the stars

somewhere out of sight.

The TV set of your mind

is heard inside your head,

making you push the rewind

button on the half-mad

recorder of your memory.

You try to put it on pause

where you once were me,

though I’m not sure I was

there at all. Just play

it back for me one more

time. Begin with the day

before the night before

there was nothing on

your mind except that fear

swallowing you at dawn

somewhere around here.

Only GOD knows when

this World may be gone.

HE is THE ONE WHO can

end It or let It go on.

Pictures on window panes

are painted with rainy days’

watercolors. It rains

in the vanishing rays

of the sun. One more night

changes the window view,

wiping it out of sight.

I’m not sure I’m you

anymore. Heavy rain

seems lighter than heavy wind.

You look at the window pane,

wondering who will win

the fight between night and day

if you can find a way…

…to try to start anew and maybe make some sense out of what you knew when you had your first chance to see the shooting scars on the face of the night sky. You stare at the stars somewhere out of sight. The TV set of your mind is heard inside your head, making you push the rewind button on the half-mad recorder of your memory. You try to put it on pause where you once were me, though I’m not sure I was there at all. Just play it back for me one more time. Begin with the day before the night before there was nothing on your mind except that fear swallowing you at dawn somewhere around here. Only GOD knows when this World may be gone. HE is THE ONE WHO can end It or let It go on. Pictures on window panes are painted with rainy days’ watercolors. It rains in the vanishing rays of the sun. One more night changes the window view, wiping it out of sight. I’m not sure I’m you anymore. Heavy rain seems lighter than heavy wind. You look at the window pane, wondering who will win the fight between night and day if you can find a way…

July 2007

(ALMOST THE SAME)

…Home to GOD. As the dust

settles, some tear gas

gets in your eyes. The past

is in a looking glass

of water squeezed from a rain-

coat on a washing line.

The sky seems to remain

almost the same, looking like

an upside-down sea

or an enormous wall

on which you often see

the sun set. Shadows fall,

followed by one more night

wearing mourning-black

until the morning light.

Everything must come back…

…Home to GOD. As the dust settles, some tear gas gets in your eyes. The past is in a looking glass of water squeezed from a raincoat on a washing line. The sky seems to remain almost the same, looking like an upside-down sea or an enormous wall on which you often see the sun set. Shadows fall, followed by one more night wearing mourning-black until the morning light. Everything must come back…

August 2007

(WHAT YOU WANT TO SAY)

…to any looking glass

with a couple of eyes

scanning a tear gas

chamber. There someone cries

about a place in time

only GOD can return

one to in their prime

if they can truly earn

it. You hide in a rain-

coat on a cold, black night,

catching another train

of thoughts you want to write

down on a paper sheet.

It can feel like a leaf

from a tree on a street

you can barely leave

by just walking away

from what you want to say…

…to any looking glass with a couple of eyes scanning a tear gas chamber. There someone cries about a place in time only GOD can return one to in their prime if they can truly earn it. You hide in a raincoat on a cold, black night, catching another train of thoughts you want to write down on a paper sheet. It can feel like a leaf from a tree on a street you can barely leave by just walking away from what you want to say…

September 2007

(THROUGH THE MORNING MIST)

…what looks like another lot

of waves licking the coast-

line when a weird thought

goes through your mind like a ghost