irinia: Poems - Hello Poetry

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3d · 37

I hate you, she said

irinia 3d

I hate you, she said

I got lost today in the women's hips
they were moving with feminine wild grace in the heat
I was lost in the subway's speed when a woman asked:
"Where did you get those shoes", "how lovely they are"
"From a small fair on the banks of a lake", I replied
"Oh, I just got back from Caprile the other day"
"I hate you", she said and she laughed
I got lost in her blue dress, I reciprocated
the sweetness of her smile

#life #synchronicity

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3d · 40

what if

irinia 3d

what if

undisturbed by light they sharpen the intelligence
of networks to the point of the sublime
they pierce their consciousness with awe
the mistery of misteries envisioned,
a jouissance beyond words in a silicon child

however, the thing is
the mythical map of light keeps its tracks hidden
as on the face of a pre Columbian god

a fresh god is ramping up our poetical mind
it chews surrogates of photons, it fears only the solar winds
my right eye sees beauty my left eye sees fake
as in the remake of a mimetic lesson
a falsetto voice reclaims the original sin

we are trapped in the structure of a vision without windows
a bionic arm displaces the soul of the skin
meanwhile we are thermodynamic fields fading
diluted waters, double edged refrains
although our skin still glows from the outside in
clouds without shadow are narrowing the rivers

we forget to take our body temperature,
the result of millions trials in the chemistry of time
who can escape the rythm of dying, who can escape the real
and not yet real. the pretence falsifies algorithms to loose its face
we are walking into the artificial light with wifi speed

pain, fear, joy make us real, all the imperfections and hyped hours

light dissects this body of binary beings
digital space consumes our sight blink by blink but we consume the time of dying  souls get amassed into digits
the delirium of crowds, small or large, rules the salinity of tears
something has already happenned
we bled,  went mad, have loved, we lost fights, faiths and teeth
now an invisible poet knits the dots with supremacy
it uses the tests for saliva and oxytocin cravings

who's gonna train our neural networks in deep learning inconclusive. what if time is tightening its loops, is
squashing every halleluja of  bipolar fingers

trees will just have to grow taller to comprehend
the mystical breeze what if
we'll never grow as tall as them

A thought experiment: I wonder how much, little or none at all AI produced poetry we are reading around here. I wonder how much we love the intelligence of networks without consent

#life #time #artificial #intelligence

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4d · 63

light

irinia 4d

light

you light a match
the flame forgets
I close my eyes
echoes pass through us
I can't tell, is it
a mirror or a door
we are suspended in shapes
that keep on crying

#poetry

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5d · 55

without

irinia 5d

without

you drink a beer
without memory
I look out the window
silence surrounds us -
I can't decide: is it
a casket or a hatchet
we are stuck inside wor(l)ds
without seeds

#life

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6d · 142

the moon is dead

irinia 6d

the moon is dead

the moon has died in a poem
overused and forlorn
its avatar is rising
in blazig pixels and scorn

we are at this threshold
one foot in the moon
the subtelty of dying will be
presented on Zoom

Godot isn't coming but
I am waiting too

#life

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6d · 50

sometimes

irinia 6d

sometimes

sometimes
I understand only the texture of your words,
the distance of your skin
you curse the silence waiting to be heard
you count the hours of toil like one counts lithium pills
you empty yourself of nothingness
desire links the margins of time
sometimes you make the proverbial schnitzel you remember
how good the *** was on the dining room table
I feel the bruise of steps, the tiredness of patience
the sharp edges of thought, the easiness of laughter
I keep on dreaming myself going out of the night
somewhere inside the purity of limits like a blade
there is this feeling of you, round
like the time that exhausts its depth
the echo of tears gets lost in your hands,
sometimes

#poetry

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6d · 39

all these

irinia 6d

all these

the surface of the cooking table
the edges of the air
the clarity of a blank page
your shivering skin
the tenderness of tears
the discipline of screaming
the eroticism of fingers
the yoke of the ramen soup
the confessions of dance
the blindness of power
all these and their forgetting
hijack the world
from falling into itself

#life

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6d · 353

flammable

irinia 6d

flammable

I carry your hands like waves breaking on the skin
your eyes get flammable like capsicum on innocent tongue
I have long conversations with this boiling sea
the sea bears the roundness of the moon
the moon reveals its wounds
the wounds shed their skins to feed
an undiscovered earth

#poetry

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Jul 9 · 372

no shadow

irinia Jul 9

no shadow

the fullness of words in your mouth
my trembling hands
a truth cuts deep
into the ribs of morning
it's the big bang of language
when silence has no shadow

#poetry

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Jul 7 · 113

strange

irinia Jul 7

strange

I feel time running like a wild animal tnrough my body
the air might hide from itself in the frenzy of an embrace
the molecules of emotion create the music of muscles, of spheres
I watch this momentum of life unfolding, rising and decreasing
passion feeds the wind, the waters, the eartquakes, it dances on liminal edges
bound and unbound the pulse of creation, of destruction
I am so very quiet, as quiet as the retina that translates the light
when the light touches you my optic nerves get burned but look
how strange,
I see further away into the clarity of hands

#poetry #time #imagination #emotion #passion #life

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Jul 2 · 99

wonder

irinia Jul 2

wonder

slowly the mountains come out of the blue of morning,
they regain their face
light bathes them in its milk
I hide in the tall grass like a child
this self expands into the clouds behind the trees
an engulfing joy dissolves words into vowels
everything that exists  is wonder, a forgotten state of matter
time confesses a circle
the circle conjures  an earth so wild
the forest stores its prayers inside moss
the sacred hidden in the most profane  flower
an work of art with unknown author, every atom is colourful
I offer my skin as playground for butterflies
they can feel she's not so different from the skin of the earth
some hours are born by the self of rain
I wonder if the wind feels me
like I feel you in blooming nails

#wonder

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Jul 2 · 80

somewhere

irinia Jul 2

somewhere

here horizon feels like the palm of a god
the lake receives the fury of summer
un unutterable feeling pushes my hands into firestorms
light rests on everything heavy as the clouds
birds carry their chirp into the destiny of the air
the moon hides somewhere in the silence of the forest
my eyes are too small a nest for the flow of wonder

#nature #life

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Jun 25 · 73

night

irinia Jun 25

night

The air dances around you and silence looks
different now. The Dead Sea is alive again, stillness acquires a
name, the world quivers on a beach
covered with blind seashells. A giant who has come down
from the mountains is posing for a naive painter. Only
eagles feel
planetary alignment, they are the only ones who can
understand man's amazed look when the woman
comes riding a thirsty gryphon. Whatever is left of life
takes refuge in your dreams. The shade of the harbour is
only generous with the spleeping statues. Every day arises
from the blazing calendar, close to the scream of the siren
out at large. The past blooms out of the rock in the sea and
weighs on your heart. The sand hesitates: I am the
beginning.
In the red cells I see only you. Even the blind see the world
again
through the eyes of their own memories. Doing survey
missions
on the maps of the world, the dolphins ask
the purple red colour of the next eon whether night comes
from beyond words

by Ionel Bota, translated by Lidia Vianu

#poetry

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Jun 22 · 95

Through the holes of time

irinia Jun 22

Through the holes of time

For a year now
the cassette tape
has been played
over and over again.

We wake up
and with a swig
of loss
of death
and some tears
we swallow a pill of hope.

We follow a path
winding back and forth like a children’s swing –
long
and exhausting,
a path we know for sure
will end in a fall into
the mud of death.

Many times
we tried
to sew up the holes
that were pierced in our hearts
then we realized
our hearts have become sieves.
The pebbles of death
the tears of sadness
and the heavy memories
are too big to leak out.

by Asmaa Dwaima

#life #death

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Jun 22 · 33

precise

irinia Jun 22

precise

we are playing with God's elements
the uncertainty principle unseizable
all we have are these disparaged letters
touched by the pigment of time
we repeatedly ignore the human DNA,
its receptivity, fragility and mistery
the horizon of safety questioned by bombs
whirpools of dread are stocked in our shoulders
the chain reaction of violence precise like the atomic time
it works faster than the splitting of atoms to
iradiate the mind

#life

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Jun 20 · 74

poetry

irinia Jun 20

poetry

in the laboratory of life unseen words are sprouting
they decenter time or they hit themselves against
the windows like birds do
they circle the emotional memory of our aorta
they smell of dust mixed with blood
they search for that place in your gaze where
is never too hot

#poetry

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Jun 20 · 50

protest

irinia Jun 20

protest

"You dream of a better day, alone with the moon" (Blixa&Teho)

I want to turn my body into protest, they are killed twice:
by hunger and  by bullets in the middle of  hunger
hatred is an invasive species, mistletoe  in reversed veins
I can see how thoughts fracture in the middle of sentence,  unrecognizable streets pose symmetrical questions
how can this be or is this all that can be
how much patience the pain has
death is like Schrodinger's cat,
it can be simultaneously here and there
a surreal space exists where time can't be saved
an invisible hand recycles genesis, invokes innocent beasts
time doesn't pass through all the layers of pain
some are turned into a certain sky, others into frozen movement, another into the fertile soil for growing wings  with which one cannot fly because the wind has not yet been invented

#life #death

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Jun 17 · 207

time

irinia Jun 17

time

worlds are collapsing, rising; dictators exhale,
entangle the veins of the world
some ideas preserve salty streets like janitors of the dark
summer keeps the score of perfumed nights
I indulge in the womb of heat
wounds are retreating in sequestered spaces -
the seeds of the future.
there is a chill in the air, dread strikes near and far
light flows like the dance stuck in my bones
everywhere the pulse of time, dreaming

#life #time

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Jun 16 · 119

when

irinia Jun 16

when

this absurdity of words blowing up the windows
so that some forget their names
life crumbles in rooms without walls
we are trapped between the skin and the moon
the world prepares us for dying in the most explicit way
through its calculated violence
trapped in the hive of fear
she is also an enlightened despot
one might get trapped without noticing
when we want to be free to be kite tamers
escape routes vanish in the dictatorship of cruelty
blood is currency in the exchange of illusions
one day can last as long as a life time
the horizon brings no relief from sunset

#life

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Jun 13 · 135

somewhere

irinia Jun 13

somewhere

when the world gets unbearable I retreat into the purity of words
do I own this heart or she owns me
an excedent of beats today as if I was traversed by an invisible sigh
my thoughts are a nomadic population searching for a soil without fear
death presents itself as an indifferent character, a secondary thing, an involuntary business, the latest fashion
who cares about the pain of the air
the skin of hours can hardly hold minds under siege
nights melt time like wax while I need to look at helplessness from a different angle
an unpredictible trajectory decides for the mornings we wake up into
there is space in the centre of words while the sky is eroded by death's toys
the eyes stand in the way some say we must die on earth to be born in the sky, the sky disagrees, the dust clots
there are patches of blue sky somewhere, there is enough silence to hear the explosions in one's head or the augmented beauty of sleep
power miscalculates its claims in the impermanence of bones

#life #death

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Jun 10 · 84

blood

irinia Jun 10

blood

I was contemplating the interlude of breathing
the tease of the jasmine perfume
a wind without insight was resting in the hammock
a solitude round like the moon
the song of birds was inviting a blue exuberance when
I had this dream... I dreamt streets flooded by blood
they seemed so real, like the amnesia of mercy
the intensity of red an amplifier for pain
violence this enclave of the soul hidden in plain sight
we watch wars on tv in the stillness of sofas
newborn tears claim the redemption of dawn
but we turn our back to the questions of time
no body line of thought but raw nerves,
blind tongues: as if our body is a world full of nothing
sometimes I have nowhere to hide from this feeling:
my blood is his/her/their blood

#life #war #violence #pain

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Jun 5 · 133

incredible

irinia Jun 5

incredible

is it a daimon is it a bliss, a market sentiment,
this chase: fill your life with incredible experiences
how does it feel an ideology of sensation
when linden trees smell phenomenal,
the birds follow their heart of air
the sensuality of summer light simmers on the skin
I can simply watch the grass exulting, the involuntary smiles,
the pain of love's plight, the serenity of the morning tea
the poliphony of noise in an age of anxiety
the song of my shoulders attuned with sight
incredible when seeing is believing that there is innocence
even in the dark

#life

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Jun 4 · 523

so much

irinia Jun 4

so much

i follow pain everywhere she wants to take me
she reveals a cosmos in a tear,
the layers of time kept together by the vitality of light.
silences rest in between our dreams
the clouds are enough for the wind
branches enough for the birds
love is holding its antonyms with gentleness
i follow pain into the camera obscura of hope
wars are trapped in the flash of words without flesh.
the lament in the loops of time, so much

#pain #time

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May 30 · 136

there

irinia May 30

there

where the eye understands the light &
the thought is not a forbidden zone
the sand is blue, the escape slow
into quietude

there we discover that
the tears have their own dying
dreams are not birds without sky
the prayers of the earth are heard by the trees

when I take you inside my temples
there the blood boils like a secret
from the depth of the moon

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May 25 · 210

everything

irinia May 25

everything

The memory of leaves heals me, but first I had to detonate the emptiness in my mother's gaze. Today this me summons all dreams for a clinical examination. Life must move forward to the confrontation of horizontal and vertical truths: the tenderness of growing wheat, the serenade of aging. The innocence of my hands denounces its longevity. I split my days in two: countable and uncountable or dreaming and nondreaming. I suffer this continuous birth: words invent me like an age without history. It must be said though: a historical smoke comes out of them. On a day like this beauty is tough, I speak with a seemingly exiled tongue. No return for dreams disguised in blind storcks.
When I look around I see all the way to New York or Cape Town how this world is oppressed by an aboundand impatience to find the point of no return for the sea level. I see the future where I never existed. Our own shadows crush us but we blame it on the sun's karma. I blame everything on love's echo.

#memory #dream #time

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May 24 · 186

pulse

irinia May 24

pulse

the wind reads me well
I'm a nomad of time
a pulse like a prophecy
whispers myself to me

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May 24 · 186

by chance

irinia May 24

by chance

the sky is wet like a mouth
the light extremely fragile
bellow people keep fighting, dancing, dying
a soothing sustance, this perfume fills my nails unassuming
the real & the imaginary fuse & diffuse each other

imagination keeps you real
by chance tears feed the earth
we need the continuity of gestures
the prelude of silence foretells the foxtrot of words
a dream clarifies the windows, solidifies the doors
like a tide of awe against the void

#light #dream #void

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May 23 · 140

shadow

irinia May 23

shadow

When does the butterfly in flight read what’s written on its
wings? Pablo Neruda
Humans cannot bare too much reality. T.S. Elliot

what is
lost in a labyrinth of questions crushed by height
only the sky is the limit is the lie. lies have borders
"What is it you want?" asks Ivan Ilych
“What do I want? Not to suffer. To live”
in their words a map of darkness
the heart of stones stops. it's so
easy to split the light with digital words
the immunity of the herd shelter for violence

I recognize the feeling as I recognize the shadow of words
it makes poetry bleed out of dreams
we understand so well how Oedipus was manipulated by fate
thoughts without borders hide from themselves
when the world is unthinkable the mind is a no man's land
their smile an eclipse of blood, in the middle of noise
life fights with its own scream

the certainty of tears pushed far away... behind the gaze till it spews hatred
a cry: the brides have forgotten to wear white,
digital happiness is unbearable
solitary selves search for communion but
the antihero doesn't ask who he is
this thought experiment terrorizes the inception of morning

a never ending cycle the desire
spectacular lives clash with normative statements
the empty father dillema in a fatherless society: some are afraid to be swallowed by the womb of the world
the resurection of the canon: the cross is hungry
let's discover these embalmed animals: our hearts

lay down the blade of thought
linden trees are blooming

#history

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May 16 · 149

is history a poem

irinia May 16

is history a poem

the sacralisation of politics takes place when more or less elaborately and dogmatically, a political movement confers a sacred status on an earthly entity (the nation, the country, the state, humanity, society, race, proletariat, history, liberty, or revolution) and renders it an absolute principle of collective existence, considers it the main source of values for individual and mass behaviour, and exalts it as the supreme ethical precept of public life. Emillio Gentile

#history

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May 15 · 178

circles

irinia May 15

circles

the circles of time so possible. the hero radicalises the mirrors. in the middle of seeing a barricade, we don't know how to overcome it's truth. reality fights with itself. i have no one to cry with. time is dripping. the violence of words. the violence of thoughts. the violence of lies. the violence of dreams. the violence of reducing life to a grammatical structure. the violence of destroying what is real. there is violence on every side. there is hope. words are weapons for massification. the captive mind needs a voice. the innocent mind sleeps in a fragile bed.
i cry alone. you cry alone too. a woman cried alone among passersby. crying together it's unthinkable on an ordinary day. is it freedom that is dripping hour by hour, day by day?
the show goes on, let's make peace a fake in remake. no famine in Gaza cause people got used to eating stones. the news is incessantly breaking. an invisible menticide, our digital fingers won't recognize what kind of substance the skin is. laughter is not enough for everybody. i watch the clouds decomposing themselves with eagerness. everything is what is supposed to be. closed minds in closed bodies. birds are carrying our thoughts like broken paddles.
the permafrost of drama can finally see the daylight. violence is unbearable for me. a circle is closing, a new one begins.

#time #history #violence

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May 14 · 140

blue

irinia May 14

blue

I have toast and panick for breakfast
there's so much noise & scrolling without end
(I am/you are/he is just islands in the middle of words and infinite scrolling)
the coffee machines just lost their purpose in radical mornings
time explodes in our veins while
I'm dreaming of blue hours

#time

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May 8 · 158

new hope

irinia May 8

new hope

the room of tears was waiting for someone suited for grace,
for bridging the gap between our wounds
a dream of togetherness filled with white smoke
the joy winged and grounded
as the immanence of the divine
tears roll with a new hope to find generosity
in the human form

#hope #divine #heart

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May 8 · 133

elementary

irinia May 8

elementary

my skin is listening: this
edge of a breath that engulfs us
the hours reclaim their elements
earth, water, air, fire
we don't banish ether from our eyes
with you an apple is a riddle
answers are not separated from questions
some mantras deepen the circle of
what I would say without words

#poetry

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May 6 · 154

her/him

irinia May 6

her/him

when I closed my eyes I saw her,
the woman traversing his dreams
like the verticality of forests
the one breaking into many
she knits the storms in his fingers
keeps the poems of dawn composed
like the sea keeps the horizon folded into itself
she wears different densities of perfume or none at all
the intensity a mirror, the warmth tangible
and unsure like a velvet smile
her bodies a road map into the serenity of clouds
she is hot like the sand - it is always wild in the light
she fills his skin with her everything again
blackness collapses into wonder
she keeps piercing the name of pain
the semiotic self is rippling into the clarity
of clay

when I close my eyes I saw him
the man traversing her dreams
the one breaking into many
echoes fractals aches &
the vitality of blues

#poetry

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May 6 · 119

hunger

irinia May 6

hunger

when I hear the wind I wonder about the tales
in the chestnut flowers, they refute their ideal
yet even stones need hope to bloom
history recycles its magnitude,
confuses its layers, refurbishes illusions
with every breath we make history

on these streets I look people in the eye
their frozen smile land in my bones
we look at each other with surprise
this is who we are, for real
sealed wounds are spinning a pain in transition
who can admit the exploitation of dreams,
the violence of lies, the competition of shadows
sitting crossed-legs with eyes closed
what we know we are; what we don't know we are too
we have such a hunger for the food of life hidden
in a lotus flower

#history

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May 2 · 227

evening on a hill

irinia May 2

evening on a hill

on this hill a poet can see how
the tip of the forest is the dance-floor for light, how
silent sediments don't notice our steps
yes, there are mythologies of darkness in the bracket (some are ready to take the plunge) but
I am here to watch the evening simmering, the light letting go of itself
the tide of sight attuned with the air discarded by trees
my bones run in a depth even when time calls a truce with itself

#nature #time #light

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Apr 25 · 188

encounters (6) a tale of two shoes

irinia Apr 25

encounters (6) a tale of two shoes

"Today I didn't think..." she paused without breathing, "I took the shoes today... to get comfortable..." A monalisa smile on her beautiful face, as if happy to get lost into an unseen dimension. Her body was cuddling on the sofa like in a fresh nest. Silence was spinning softly around us. I stared at her shoes emptied on the floor, I entered their dream. Minutes passed or half minutes, they felt years.
Years of hope and heaviness, ambition and laughter, ignorance and bliss. They looked helpless, tired, used against their vocation by a stern pace. " My skin is itching... again...." Her skin doesn't want me to see through her, I thought, her skin doesn't want anyone to see what she saw, to feel what she felt. I looked at her in silence, I waited for the shoes to unfold their poetry. I hoped for a smile to slide on her skin one day

#poetry

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Apr 23 · 242

escape

irinia Apr 23

escape

How many rythms we are and who listens.
We are inaudible.
No body can escape history, only in dreaming.
The dreams dream the missing body.
The mind escapes in its architecture, an unstable jungle.
it evades in dreams too
The dreamer dreams what one cannot think.
Concepts are birds on wire or double edge swords,
one edge cuts the density of the world, the other one cuts the body away. The body is the musical canvas of the mind.
Ideas don't exist without a hand, without a tongue.
Everything transforms into other than itself,
the body becomes mind, the mind becomes body.
Thoughts turn into motion, sensation into image, images turn into words, colours, noise, an eternal hum,
we are the toys of a god of life.
Everything vibrates in a potential field of meaning.
Every tribe of cells has its own sense of time and grammar,
In between the empty space improvises.
The mind is a martial artist, it rehearses its moves with conviction and pathos.
The body absorbs reality and feeds the mind, it is an amplifier of life.
These words are passing through my mind, my chest, my eyes, my hand,
I don't know exactly what they mean.
How much sense there is in a touch,
how light or rushed or heavy or shy or joyous or furious or screaming or ardous or defeated or uncertain or afraid.
I carry the other in me when I dream their bodies.
Then you move away, stay or dissapear, who knows.
Communication moves through the body.
Everything that is alive finds a way to be.
Everything that is alive finds a way to destroy its aliveness.
The body resonates inside the body of the world.
The nuances of light gives the eye its intensity,
the movement of darkness moves the mind to fill the blanks.
A shared chemistry binds us and how much effort we put to disentangle.
Full succes is impossible.
There is no escape from being alive until we greet the great unknown, I suspect death is alive too after all.
we already know many ways of dying, we pretend not to know how life can render us lifeless.
Frozen, constricted, unflowing, circling, dying bit by bit.
Nowdays we die with speed in our eyes, with surprise.
What do words dream and who dreams the words?
Who dreams the world and who shares the dream?
I don't want to be captive in anyone's dream.
Let's share the dreaming,
from some dreams
there is no scape.

#life #death #dreaming #body #mind

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Apr 22 · 153

books we've never read

irinia Apr 22

books we've never read

Books we've never read are opening for us.
Towns shimmer in the night air.
Cold dawns. Warm autumn train stations.
The roads turn like pages. Eyes reddened by wind.

Nothing now but the bookmark of a horizon.
You hold my little finger tightly.
Dew prints ellipses on our path;
Later, coppery shadows line the grass.

The day's reborn. I yearn for longer books.
The Lord plays his music on the wind's viola.
We are as pure and strange as Sanskrit words.
We greet the sun, whom we resemble.

by Marjana Savka

#poetry

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Apr 22 · 299

emotion

irinia Apr 22

emotion

a quarter of a second
that's all I need to understand
the emotion of spring leaves

#spring

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Apr 22 · 123

everyday tyranny

irinia Apr 22

everyday tyranny

If I stop dreaming
It fully wakes the beast
Teho Teardo & Blixa Bargeld

a collapsed time, its recurring pulse
spews me in and out of my mold
everything exists all at once
everyday,
probable and frozen states,
this configuration of atoms.
terror owned my muscles
cruelty assaulted my mind
I was breathing only in dreams
fused and confused,
receptacle for an anarchic pain.
I was living the secret life of moths
encapsulated in strangled words

I am writing:
this is the shape of a heart
no denial.
a tyranny of silence
is an impossible exile.
oh, I have to remember
the fortitude of silence
when I'm shouting,
when the tyrant is I

#tyranny

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Apr 21 · 159

April

irinia Apr 21

April

it's April in the lilac's sweetness
I need a break from this modern mind,
from the chronic, endemic discourse of crisis
I am looking: this creature, the sea, is herself
the wind shouts without words
echoes pass through the gate of tears,
weapons of mass production
take my hands and do something with them
layers of silence or the tango of closeness,
the thought of an uniterrupted line

#poetry

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Apr 13 · 246

adoration

irinia Apr 13

adoration

I unfold in adoration of clouds leaves wild flowers bees
thoughts pass like the shadows of birds
everything gets illuminated revealing a core
the world gets deeper than one thought

#nature #light #spring

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Apr 11 · 251

antidote

irinia Apr 11

antidote

words have orbit for pain to find a skin,
to slide into wonder
silence is in balance with the danger in your eyes
I'm not looking for an antidote for dreaming
I feel your barbaric alchemy, your mouth full of birds
I play hide and seek with you in my hair
your hands don't sit quiet at the edge of hours
I wear my steps like I throw the dice
poetry is an antidote for the scream of an unseen colour
I keep you in my tears and you flow

#poetry

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Apr 9 · 248

who

irinia Apr 9

who

the mind needs to repeat this journey
into the clarity of fruits/glasses/doors
they used to talk with voices without tears
they used to speak without tongue
we are pedestrians into aerial dreams sometimes
we live in this density of meaning too complex for a circle
an uncoscious trajectory so precise & mysterious
I throw myself into the pool of time,
in its seeds, dangers, spirals,
into the unseen in my eyes
who I am is a destiny

#mind #dream #meaning #time #destiny

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Apr 9 · 187

war

irinia Apr 9

war

a ***** war between language and forgetting

Gulag, Holocaust, Holodomor, Maafa
Operation Condor, Shock and Awe
red famine, potato famine
the kurdish, uyghur, rohingya, Isaaq genocide
Bengal, Rwanda, Armenia, Ukraine, Palestine,
Burundi, Nigeria, Zimbabwe
encompassing the geography of cruelty
someone humane did
actually write a book of inhumanity
560000 people killed on every page
1500 people killed at every word

still can't decipher the blood as if it's a hieroglyph
insatiable the history of pain

some are in the mood for war, for triumph
our eyes are swallowed by a verticalless convulsion
the cyclopic mind is doomed to fail
it's impossible to bury this time
in a hacked sky over a fragile earth

#history #war #cruelty #time

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Apr 3 · 151

no surprise

irinia Apr 3

no surprise

no surprise we collide with the future
the great avenger invades our fiber
the old method of collapsing the future
still in the cards. how many cards are there?
the world a stage for mindlessness
ideology more powerful than reality
complexity will have a say in the tale of chaos
misread victimhood to put on a show
the tyranny of dark ideas uncontainable
number pi is missing from the formula but
penguins are resilient to shock therapy, lucky them
we'll hold our breath and see the world anew
no surprise we are inclined to run away from our contribution
to reality, a deeper wound is perhaps
the dark matter of history

#future #ideology

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Apr 3 · 185

time

irinia Apr 3

time

the rulers of time must be blindfolded
they invent voidless words, old eager hands
in this time without dimensions
in this space devoid of meaning
they delete their mothers from themselves
the warmth of bodies is imprisoned in anguish
the body invades the mind, and the mind replies,
it invades the body, an impossible conversation
thoughts are transitional landscapes
but thinking might rebell and fragment into a standstill
time filled my mind and stuffed my throat
to tighten the unthinkable pain
on days with thick blood and stagnant winds
no words to fill the void, the unbearable hopelessness
the letters got destroyed by the gastric acid
and so I became... the reflux of pain

#time #history #pain #hopelessness

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Apr 2 · 188

movement

irinia Apr 2

movement

this intensity: I rediscover
the edge of falling into oneself,
reinventing reality,
pain, blind feathers, sharp teeth, limits
this deficit of whispering
thoughts can see their end, their imaginary double
the roots of words translucent
their feedom released
they dismantle non words,
half-truths or nontruth
birds are free to be birds
or dreams of the air
hunger for connection is a hunger for creation
this feeling a vital movement, an undercurrent hallucinating forests
a delicate complexity of vulnerability and necessary innocence
the forgetting is colourless, as a matter of fact
there is no true forgetting, but nature itself invented
a God of mercy

#poetry #feeling #forgetting

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Apr 2 · 103

poetry

irinia Apr 2

poetry

words are embryos of some thoughts,
it must be said they were arbitrary were they were born
their calling as deep as the alphabet of time
in a preformed space it was already there
the force that keeps a me apart from we
my mother fed me with words day and night
in a time when the word Babel was so tall

is poetry a shortcut or a detour into the unthinkable?
a compromise with the death of language
we anesthetize the dawn getting rid of memory
we ventilate emotions through our muscles
but the Carnot cycle keeps spinning
an emotional engine escaping precision, not questions
unsaturated images in our stories, an unruly body
suffused with misery and dreaming
I will write an endless poem till darkness exhausts itself
as a diver who runs out of oxigen

when sand storms are triggered in my hands
black cloths cover the mirrors
I have died an unfelt death

#poetry

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