I’m simply worried about the cruelty of nature,
Or perhaps about the carelessness of humans...
The fires,
The scorched homes,
The injured people.
Could I write about birds and animals at a time like this?
I don’t think so, because they too die,
They too turn to ash.
A single city can be entirely consumed by fire,
And our efforts prove meaningless.

Woman: Tell me, how can I surprise you?

Man: Send me a picture where your long hair is flowing over your shoulders, and your chest is visible.

Woman: You've never had such desires before.

Man: You've awakened something new in me. I just want to touch you.

Woman: There's a great distance between us.

Man: I believe in love online.

Woman: I understand.

Man: I'll definitely come to you, see you. I want us to have fun in a hotel, drink, and have ***.

Woman: That sounds very good, but I'd like us to meet in a year, during winter, in freezing, cold weather.

They never met. What's more, they ended up arguing.

Edgar Allan Poe's raven,
A devourer of carrion,
The raven of the underworld,
Gustave Doré's ravens...
A black raven perches on manganese.

An eternal value,
Dignity,
Or the pain caused by its violation
A cynical pain.
But let us mock it,
For is the pain that seeks to dominate us
Not deserving to be base,
Brought low by our lyrical ridicule?

Babette: Don’t dream make your dreams a reality.
Lea: When I see an expensive hotel on the street, I get the urge to strip down and lie in its bathtub.
Babette: Convince yourself that you’re already there naked, lying in the bathtub, maybe with a man beside you.
Lea: I don’t need a man.
Babette: How could you not? What about someone like Hugo?
Lea: Oh, maybe... but he probably had too many women. Could I really waste my love on a man like that?
Babette: Let’s have a drink.
Lea: Let’s get some Italian Aperol.
Babette: Oh, that’s a great idea.

The two characters met and lay on  grass. The evening was cool more than that, it was cold and bright, like a winter's day. They talked about trivial topics.

"Shall we eat?" one of them asked.
"Of course," the other replied.

They entered a non-vegetarian diner and ordered roasted chicken with white wine. The character loved simple food, and the other loved them. They started eating.

"Roasted chicken goes so well with white wine," one said.
"Oh, I completely agree. Let’s make this meal last as long as possible."
"Of course."

They began to eat very slowly. One of them moved their mouth so deliberately that it looked like a slow-motion scene from a music video.

"You know," one said, "I love Sartre's Nausea."
"Ah, indeed, a must-read book."
"Now that we’re talking about it, this reminds me of our situation."
"I get it Sartre, right?"

They laughed. One laughed so slowly that a piece of chicken fell from their mouth.

"So, where should we go today?"
"Let’s decide once we’re outside."

After their prolonged meal, they left the cheap diner and walked down the street.

I want to write with vivid descriptions,
like Bunin’s:
a lilac sky, tender grass,
or even the reigning silence.

But I won’t lose myself entirely.
I often entertain myself with imagined fictions,
sitting on my couch,
picturing how I continue my studies at Harvard.
Forgive me for this whim
I simply wish to enroll in a ceramics course.

I mentioned it in an older poem,
how I envision the process.
But no,
I’ll stick to painting abstractions,
which help me unwind the most.

I love observing colors,
their blending,
their interplay.