a draught in my memory
русский, עברית, to order the book
Nathan Brusovani Translated by Moshe Stolar
Insomniac clock’s hands were drawing near midnight ::
Fantasy whatsoever loses intensity upon luckily reaching the goal ::
A face turned inwards stands out for the lack of makeup ::
Sphynx is hollow, the buzz of a stray thought makes it flinch ::
Reward yourself with happiness – forget that it exists::
Write down your encounters step by step. Might happen, you’ll need to retreat ::
The half-life decay period of visual memory is five years.
After this you just don’t run into it ::
Verboseness of silence is the stepmother of parting ::
Even without having been there, you have some notion of its existence ::
The language teacher mumbled incoherently, having got tangled up in the labyrinths of her language ::
Splinters of hope scratch the skin ::
Thinking about, we find ourselved inside the ::
Woke up, washed up, looked through the window, became witness to the abyss of human suffering ::
The riddle of life and the mysteries of creation are equally unpleasant on an empty stomach ::
The trees have become witness to endless confessions. They turned black ::
Every line virtually contains the horizon, but the vast – it is beyond any expression ::
Wondered about life. Got a sentence as long as memory is::
Your silence is unbearable! – So lend me your lips… ::
They cut this morning lopsided. Cries for help were heard time and again ::
Somewhere nearby, in life, in the bosom ::
Weighed every word, ended up on the other side of reason ::
Flamingo was inclined to go pink, while straightening its neck to fly off ::
Being erratic – exhaling all thought, the flight of mind, a deep breath, and a coughing fit::
No somersault I turned could move, if just a bit, the ugly stiffened blotch, that clogs my soul, my home, the universe as such ::
The screeching shutters let in what was yesterday ::
Memories were feeding on remnants of the seen ::
The clenched stopper-rod of the old washbasin oozed the overheard ::
The stain of an ended day was spreading over the tablecloth of weekdays ::
Billions of specks of dust swirled up on command for the morning offering. I dodged unnoticed ::
A wind blew from nowhere. It picked me up and carried away into nowhere ::
Music came through the сracks.
Ragged holes in the being bulged with light. He sat on the edge of the day, grasping his knees ::
Spread out the borders. Pulled up the horizon. Sliced some time into the broth ::
Wound up the heartbeat and waited. It came. It hurt ::
This minute took longer than usual. And came to an end unexpectedly ::
Had to revise his life principles on the go, where it was awfully crowded. So they got all filled up with feet scraping, brakes screeching, and faces running::
Storm of thoughts at once subsided on the plain of fancy words ::
His life was a false start. He was ahead of his time ::
Build up the suspense, then leave the reader to the attention of the night visitors ::
Faces in the window were going in reverse. Memory drove into the opposite lane ::
The gravy train was over. The passengers got sacked ::
A memory knot came undone. Boy, just what spilled out… ::
Natural drives can wait for a while. Unnatural drives fill up the whole of you ::
Bought a powder for removing all of the last thoughts, just to be on the safe side ::
Hair-raising thoughts visited him. When pondering on yet another one, he every time jerked his head ::
Gulped down 50 grams of bitter words, took a bite of the weekdays. As usual ::
The current of time is ruthless to swimmers without a life saver ::
Plunged headlong into the slightly ajar ::
A blank sheet. The verbosity to come is rolled into it ::
Echo was dead scared clambering up after the mezzo::
It dawned on him. He broke into singing. Out of the ordinary ::
Disagreements became intolerable. I ceased to understand myself ::
Ready to leave this day, when falling asleep he smiled. But not for long ::
Waves of light flooded those present. The enlightenment has been prepaid on the day before ::
Per day, yearly, weekly, monthly, per merit ::
There was a sound. Petrovich shuddered. A certain half thought has been floating across the hemisphere::
The weather forecast was a failure. The woods tensed up in anticipation of a storm ::
Slow down, wild rover, watch your tiny step ::
Ran out, looking down the street, and stopped dead – they cloned him! ::
The chiaroscuro, glorified by Mandelstam, remains deranged ever since the six days of Creation. The light bulb, sanctified by V. I. Lenin, kept sane for 48 hours ::
The old men’s babble chat and baby’s lamentation – both are my mother tongue, but not with punctuation::
Gave it some serious thought and flew away. One way ::
Cheering again, brandishing the hammer and anvil ::
Blabbed unwillingly. Confessed to himself ::
Missed the appointed. Started to prepare for the worst ::
Infinity of the feathered disturbed consciousness while gently ruffling through what remained of his hair ::
Gray is the hour. Each minute like barbed wire. The wait goes on and on. The wristwatch just died out ::
Circumstances went backwards. The endured piled up at the entrance ::
The statue turned into stone. A marble nipple trickled a vein of quartz ::
Foliage stiffened, stunned. Adam and Eve were getting rid of their nakedness ::
Blurted out in a fit of temper, as though cut off ::
Horizons appeared while submerging ::
Rare meditations aloud brought the silent monks closer to one another ::
A sound from the heavens has dissolved, it killed the dream for silence ::
Scattered promises made jogging difficult ::
Dust settled time after time, it left an aftertaste of the ages ::
The bell’s toll crashed into the ground ::
Up rushed a bird, calling into yet another day and a dazzling morning ::
Forget. Don’t recollect. But the fingers, the fingers go numb – she’s so close ::
Abandoning the waiting orbit, the eye expects a brand new day ::
You can’t close yourself inside yourself. You can break out from the inside of someone else ::
Stood up. Sat down. Went into a spin like mad ::
The scene where they part – necks twisted, a duel! ::
He went through a lot. Carried it all away ::
Spilled it, lost it, bumped into it, gathered it up, forgot about it for good ::
Even if you don’t know – it’s still nice ::
The End