I am not alone but lonely,
Yet I wanna be
Not lonly but alone.

My dear teacher’s left for Peking,
And another for Seul,
Now no one’s here to guide me, my heart’s gone.
My friend’s left for Peking,
My lover’s almost always busy.
Tokyo, now you are not home.

Sakuras are now all in bloom.
All people go to see them, every one takes selfies.
My phone’s feed’s overflowing with their bloom.
I play flute and I write haikus in my native language,
But not a line, not a note did I get out of my self about the bloom.

And now In my home,
I don’t have room of my own own,
And grandma’s tv is far to loud unless it’s mute.
Help me, please, please let me put a futon
underneath tatami,
Please let me beneneath the floar,
And let me break my flute.

When get out home, I scream in parks’ directiona,
“Wait for me to get better, you ******* Sakuras, don’t bloom”
I am now 17, I wanna die before I’m 50,
Don’t wanna waste a single season.
But I am a sick man a I cursse in front of elders,
And scream (people can hear me) “Sakuras, don’t bloom”.

Love them, love them. Your real friends and that namesake of yours.
Love them, love them. They are there for you answer your call at midnight, there for you to cross borders to meet.
Love them, love them. They, who gonna hool angry with you if you travel without them.
Not those, not those. They don’t meet each for months and they live in one city, no messages in the chat.
Not those, not those. Never gonna call you if you don’t, will never greet you if you won’t.
Not those, not those. Your opinion never match, nor will ever your hearts, that is a shame.
Search now, search now. Leave home, go out, hug strangers, let them be the first ones to ask of your name.
Search now, search now. Confront the wall you’ve built to have tea behind it with someone who’ll never come.
Search now, search now. Shut your heart up and go find people who share your road, and once you’re there, you better love whoever’s yours

Am I worth the space I take up, and the portion of air I pollute, am I freaking worth?
Because I know that anyone read this mess is worth, I’m quite sure there’s someone who wants to be them and wants to stay in touch, and who doesn’t wanna wake up if the person who’s reading is the waker.
And, heck yeah, I believe one’s existence is justified by someone else’s love or affection or something like that, something sweet and similar to blessing, always hand in hand with jealousy and some pain. And, yes, jealousy plus something equals affection, which in turn equals worth and justifies existence. Period.
Jokes aside: am I freaking worth the space I take up? Well, for I know there is a painter who angry with only hanging out with a musician not caring for painter’s feelings, well if that’s jealousy my existence’s kinda justified, for jealousy equals love. Period. Or if it’s not jealousy, if jealousy is when you ask you can hardly without to answer your messages for once and being angry doesn’t, if it’s the latter I might very well be a waste, or am I not. Wich is it?
Oh, sorry, told you, mess.

They say curiosity killed the cat. Well, let it **** him as many times as it wants to. As usual cats’ got nine of those, and the dark-furred wierdo over here has way more. ‘Cause apparently he obtains one every time his heart gets stolen by some strangers, and that ugly thing’s been switching owners a lot lately... anyways, he’s off to some side streets this afternoon, so I guess he’s not gonna home on time once again, go catch him, if ya want, it’s not like i care. Bye now, gotta go, trace some trails.

How many homes do I have?
If home is somewhere I stay most of the time, then, of course, I’ve only got one, and none cares if I love it or not.
And if home is somewhere I’d love to be, where walls and people always seem to welcome me, then I’ve got plenty al around Kiev and it’s neighboring small towns.
And if it’s somewhere I belong, then I was born homeless and will probably stay like this till the end.
So, please, my dear strangers, choose whichever answer you like.

Oh,moon,
Send ghosts to  me,
Of all of the people I think of,
Of all of the humans I sing of,
Of all of the souls I dream of,
Oh, moon,
Send ghosts to me,
Of those who’d scream frightened of the dark,
Of those who’d speak a wild lot in the dark,
Of those who’d wake me when it’s no more dark,
Oh, moon,
Send ghosts to me,
So we hug in here for hours in my mind,
So we search in here for nothing in my mind,
So we wait in here for answers in my mind,
Oh, moon.