{"id":15657,"date":"2025-03-14T12:12:23","date_gmt":"2025-03-14T10:12:23","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/egophobia.ro\/?p=15657"},"modified":"2025-03-18T06:45:16","modified_gmt":"2025-03-18T04:45:16","slug":"poems-by-mykyta-ryzhykh-4","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/egophobia.ro\/?p=15657","title":{"rendered":"poems by Mykyta Ryzhykh"},"content":{"rendered":"

1<\/strong><\/p>\n

the lonely grove grew for the dead<\/p>\n

here glass of grave drowned in died grass<\/p>\n

and everywhere red rederry instead green greenery<\/p>\n

fallen leaves crunch underfoot<\/p>\n

someones bones crunch underfoot<\/p>\n

someones souls crunch underfoot<\/p>\n

this crunch sounds inside<\/p>\n

this rib hurts inside<\/p>\n

these are thoughts rotting inside the skull<\/p>\n

\u0456m learning to swim in transparent silence<\/p>\n

im learning to die in the lonely blue<\/p>\n

\u0456 teach my eyes to sleep<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

2<\/strong><\/p>\n

Say goodbye to your Sudetenland, German<\/p>\n

You’re German, which means you’re a little Hitler<\/p>\n

You should return home to Germany<\/p>\n

You must return home to non-Germany<\/p>\n

Germany no longer exists (but do Germans still exist?)<\/p>\n

Sudetes are not cutlets that can be baked<\/p>\n

Screams can be baked, silence can be baked<\/p>\n

The Germans are going home to a destroyed Germany<\/p>\n

The Sudetenland will never go home to Germany<\/p>\n

Carts and tears are ready for relocation<\/p>\n

The Sudetenland sounds very poetic in Germanic<\/p>\n

The Sudetenland will never sound Germanic again<\/p>\n

Mom why Hitler was German mom why we are Germans<\/p>\n

Mom why do they hate us mom why nothing changes<\/p>\n

After so many years, Hitler walks on the planet’s saucer<\/p>\n

My cat has a mustache like Hitler, my dog is silent like Hitler<\/p>\n

What are personal boundaries, what are state boundaries<\/p>\n

Mom, I always knew that sooner or later we would all be shot.<\/p>\n

Mom, we staged a holocaust, they staged a holocaust against us<\/p>\n

Mom, I can’t count, I only know how to build nuclear bombs<\/p>\n

Can someone count the number of hydrogen bombs?<\/p>\n

How to count the screams in Hiroshima, how to pray for Auschwitz<\/p>\n

It is impossible to forget how humanity is melting<\/p>\n

Black migrants drown in the gelatin of murder<\/p>\n

White-skinned cisgender men are drowning in the gelatin of war<\/p>\n

Gays are drowning in everything at the same time it hurts<\/p>\n

Too much blood too loud silence<\/p>\n

Weapons are knocking on the iron door of an armless veteran<\/p>\n

Who will open the doors on this last night? Who will judge whom? Who will forgive whom?<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

3<\/strong><\/p>\n

The blood of the water is absorbed by a stranger with a platinum face<\/p>\n

The tub of the night is torn into shreds of shame<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

What do we drink while feeling the sticky orgasm of the gaze with our<\/p>\n

fingers<\/p>\n

You try to cum on me as fast as possible during aerial bombing<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

4<\/strong><\/p>\n

I don\u2019t even know your name, but I know that death with cast iron eyes awaits you here. Long night for knowledge. You learn from your hands. You teach your hands. You learn phantom pain. You teach phantom limbs to tremble. Cold is a teacher. You learn the cold, although war is hot. Thousands of hot suns in one small bullet. Metal is unteachable and guns shoot at random. Metal doesn’t teach you anything. The throat of the school, crushed by the noise, turns red. The ruins of the school are covered with flowers. The cemetery of school is buried. Cemetery buried. There is nowhere to bury the dead. There is nowhere to hide the dead. A homeless angel with greedy eyes for silence sits on your shoulder. You tremble as if during an explosion. Then you fall asleep again in the apostle’s arms. The night falls asleep in the eyes of the dying man. Everything around is saturated with the mold of history. Dogs on the ruins are trying to mate. The nameless world falls asleep.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

5<\/strong><\/p>\n

Snowflake bones<\/p>\n

People hashtags<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The madness of the grass in which we were born<\/p>\n

The silence of the grass in which we will be buried<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The madness of the glass in which we swim<\/p>\n

The toothless glass in which we bleed<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Trauma in the belly of the night<\/p>\n

Hope for the morning that will judge everything<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

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