to K., unspoken
I
I want to hear the sound of impact,
Hurried, raw — a strike unplanned,
Something broken in its pattern,
Ice cracked,
A beam on chains unchained,
Smashing through the wall,
With a furious, hollow gesture.
I want stars to explode,
Dreams to burn — I’m ready — dismantle me, break it!
It screams,
Like the sweat of a spring long dead,
Which, haha!, hasn't lived here for ages.
Once, I told myself: “Be bold,”
But now I’m wiser — I’ve clenched my throat,
Tightened my neck, forced my tongue to fold,
Not a single word will escape unscathed!
I filter my speech — cautious, clean,
From absurd, excessive, dangerous things.
This world’s for skilled tightrope kings:
Clench your fist — not to smash, but to stall the swing.
This world, it gleams with a crystal balance,
Always on edge — go ahead, give it a nudge!
No winning hand without a card of malice.
The oak breaks where the reed will budge.
II
And yes — only the dead feel no grief,
Dream in their tomb, feel no pain.
This poem’s obscene —
A joke, profane,
As pointless as a hairless wad of puke.
Steel glove can’t hold the root,
The pendulum strikes,
Strikes teeth like boots.
Pendulum — you are wrong, but no offense,
To dare be wrong with me is innocence.
And yes — only the dead feel no grief,
And that, I’ll admit, is welcome news.
A thesis fit for applause and belief —
But I am alive, and I bruise.
My tale rings out with screaming stones,
And empty graves that echo lone.
Stones — stones — please scream for me!
Louder!
A dead shark clings to the keel
And leaves the beam a bloody scatter.
III
Forgive and forget me,
I’m ready to face what's next.
I’m the forever-useless Scoglio*,
Lashed by words,
Still hoping for the best,
Asking senseless questions
To myself alone —
Or rather, to your copy,
Simulated in a code unknown.
You always reply politely —
But cold.
And I imagine we walk the same wake
Alternately —
But it’s not true.
These talks bring no more use,
Just air in an empty bottle
On loop.
But I — I’m a racecar
With a broken brake.
Only this isn’t Nevada**,
And there’s no escape.
(Still — I now hold a black belt
In apathy.)
I’m free to leave whenever I want,
Unbound by ties or decency,
Unchained from forces that pull or taunt.
No one can bend me, break me, stage me —
Though maybe my knees lack calcium,
And on two shaking ones I collapse,
I vanish —
Just to not feel
The void
Of confusion.
What nonsense I spoke of Scoglio —
At least he has a shot at blind hatred.
IV
Hooray, hooray!
The game is lost today.
A small round —
But it hit my snout, okay.
Ha-ha — my fur
Gripped my guts in disarray!
Why’s he barefoot on the block?
He’s got no legs —
Tick-tock.
Why does he shake like reeds?
Twists frightened by the speed!
Hooray, hooray —
So near the core,
The scales go mad
Like bathroom clocks of yore.
V
I know where the right answers lie,
I know that guilt sits in the chair I didn’t choose,
When I, ignoring advice both soft and sly,
Heard nothing, felt nothing, refused.
One seat held the pain
Of bitter hope denied,
The second bore a dam
Where voiceless urges died.
I’m not that large,
Bony and small,
I could’ve sat on the edge —
It would’ve sufficed, after all.
But this time,
I managed to peer
Right down the barrel —
Saw fate clear —
And sat on both chairs with equal cheer.
There was no fault in anyone’s name,
Dreams kept coming just the same,
The paint didn’t peel from the wall,
I went blind — yet didn’t blink at all.
My capital? Sure — then yours as well.
No regrets.
But I keep building barriers, I confess.
I won’t let birds fly into traps —
Birds, don’t go — they’re only pens, no maps.
Besides —
My birds, you see,
Especially love the sky.
VI
But no matter how I shield the birds,
Black, black nets
Break their fragile, grey-white wings.
Foolish birds, so foolish — without fear of death,
All they want is proof they ever were.
And to mourn each bird
Won’t fit in eternity’s breath.
"I’ll love you through a life and a whole death." ***
— I’ll love and grieve;
But still, they’ll fall to earth beneath.
And people will scream with mouths sealed tight,
And the knock on the wall —
That’s all that’s left in this world
For the weak who surrendered the fight.
VII
Knock-knock!
What’s that sound?
Bang!
A shot through the crown.
No — he’s whole,
Wrong round.
Chiki-briki —
Get out now!
VIII
All that remains in this world for the weak by will —
Are ribs turned outward in shame,
All that remains for the voluntarily still —
Is a shriek,
A squeal with no name,
To writhe each night
On sheets like a snake,
To bite your pillow and whisper a code
Until your skull might break:
"I will be mute as a fish, like a stone I’ll be mute,
I will be mute as a fish,
Like a stone I’ll be mute..."
And all around
Screams of stones are heard —
Unbearably sharp,
Sharper than words.
Cutting the ear
Like herons with beaks
That jab at frogs
In muddy creeks.
Each stone scream
Louder than before,
Helpless fists
Tighten and soar.
A spring in the woods
Bursts into red,
And for each hour spent asleep in your bed,
Held in your arms —
I grow more black instead.
But the match, it seems,
Will burn out
Before melting the glacier ahead.
IX
All those dumb, implausible tales
About loving without caging the free,
About how love’s not just theory or fails,
And how you can dive in like the sea —
As if chosen slavery could shift the tone,
As if the pendulum would strike less hard
Inside the bone.
But I’ll flee that ship —
Like a swarm of grey rats from the ark of love —
And that ship sinks —
I can’t help but believe it does.
And now I stand, seventh-line pawn,
Nowhere to go —
A stalemate dawn.
No one has won,
No one has lost —
What a cruel joke at such a cost.
I was the best acrobat on the rope —
But earned no applause, no hope.
Seems I’ve earned a ticket to sleepwalk and jail,
A cage for birds —
My final tale.
X
Chik-chik,
Chirp-chirp!
Silence rings
Like a scream disturbed.
Surprise,
And trap.
A howl
Of sirens gone mad.
A move — a mistake,
A move — collapse.
White flag now,
My general — perhaps?
XI
I want stars to explode,
Dreams to ignite — I’m ready — dismantle, unfold.
It screams.
Corridors tighten with every breath,
They’re narrow.
I speak to you, yet I can’t hear through the frost.
I’ve broken the simulation,
Discarded the mold,
Forgive me the foolish provocation,
Robot.
Barely I cling to the thread — this is my end, behold.
Equilibrium shattered, words uprooted —
Now I can only whistle,
Like kettles do,
Like a pot exhaling steam in silver mist.
Steam rises toward the window —
A useless tryst.
The fight draws to a close; analysis shows zugzwang’s kiss.
The steam will cling to the ceiling and remain.
You won’t know, and can’t —
But I’m not your bane.
The birds float soundless,
Just to fall into net’s constraint.
I walk the edge of the void.
And now —
accelerate.
--------
* — Scoglio is a fictional character, hopelessly in love for over 10 years. You won’t find him on Google — only a couple of people know he exists.
** — In Nevada, there’s a 34-kilometre stretch of highway without a single turn. Also, US Route 50 — stretching 4,800 km — is one of America’s main east-west highways. Its Nevada section is known as "The Loneliest Road in America." On such a road, a car with failed brakes might actually have a chance.
*** — A line from a poem by Anastasiya Kudasheva.
80–90% of this poem were written today at 5 a.m.
The rest — later in the day.
22 December 2019