OKTOBER_UNIKUM_WEB

POEM
the kettle boiled and I filled a cup of black tea from the mom’s tea service
I‘m sitting on this chair and drinking tea.
and it seems that nothing could be more eternal than this chair
and I‘m sitting
the chair no longer feels so comfortable and was it ever so?
the chair has become familiar
the chair has become eternal
I can scream!
I can sob!
I can moan!
I can bark!
and I will sit
and I will wait
the whole world is already deafening
and I‘m sitting
the whistling of the kettle is already a part of me
as I sit
the sound penetrates every cell of my tired body
as I sit
the sound literally deafens me
and I‘m sitting
the kettle is boiling on the cooker
and I‘m sitting there
THE KETTLE
Evgeniia Kadyrova
Photo Editor
Illustration: Evgeniia Kadyrova
Illustration: AdobeStock // BrAt82
Everlasting dystopia
Mosac Frederic Stefanelad
Writer
All this life for naught,
It is what it taught;
Nothing like a summer sky,
Knowing that the end is nigh.
Rhetorical rhythmical redemption,
All this metal should get detention.
Lift my head to the second sun;
Only to feel the light run.
Mouths utter indescribable sounds
For and to the ear that bows,
And the eyes silently wage
With the nose to smell the rage.
Half the matter is in grey
Half of it goes away;
All of it looks and drools
Questions not for words of fools.
20
Smoking clouds with darker houses,
Candy eyes for it arouses;
All of them are inebriated
As Wonderlands tea is outdated.
Sea of colors is ahold
Crashing waves come to fold,
With a tranquil lake resign
Dim sky and snowy moon align.
Internal irresistible infinite,
Strike in a blaring screaming fit.
All just dust with dreams
That will never be fulfilled in years.
Hands collide with sinful gaze
To give afoot a never maze,
A body luggage with a mindful
But a head that is not careful.
All this life for naught,
It was what it taught;
Everything like a meadow green,
None of this for us to win.