Poetry
by Sasha Trufanov

Poems by Sasha Trufanov

[decorative image]

Illustration by Max Hamilton

Rubik Cube 

The stranger looks after me behind this door; it is past twelve,
The arsons are awake, and I don’t know what to do. A creepy
window inside the world you are about to leave How often
starry night tells us it is not late

Reading a book: “tonight I stepped out of car and saw
How viciously I came in sore to this fornificated row
But dusty clouds…dusty…clou…du…clu
Du…bist..ein bisch…en..inside there is a German

Ger…ma..n…poi…di…rit..to…slow…down
It…is…a very…very far a…way…fro…m…Nap…les While
Caserta…Cas…va…do…a Ca…sa…e…ver…ne…ar What am I
thinking of ? Wake up, don’t take a nap too soon

My internal German thrusts itself onward and up Even
when I don’t wish…he stays up until the sun comes up. The
only thing I know that Bulgakov was extremely right;
Never speak to strangers and you will be fine.

The Postcard

Green is a colour of life
Of new life cherished in five little
Creatures quite passive, but still;
Eureca! They found another door
That they could sneak in and
Play in scrabble on top of the world
Feeling as if the whole orb belonged
To them in its fruitful bounty;
Be abandoned the day when
They find out what life
Can bring if you are in
Danger of not knowing
Anything or anybody, who,
Or which or that,
No matter, but is around you;
Be blessed these
And let the swan
To sing the latest song!
He likes to be alone
But we got some other
Plan for you too.
Bono can be satisfied,
For his part is
Almost completed
Farewell, and bid ours
Welcome!

Time.

Time is liquid, time is a change
It changes within itself, it makes you
Feeling empty, ruined, quiet as a wrinkled paper.
It works upon you, it makes you old
Is there any toddler to halt this weary jolt ?
I’m roaming inside America
My feet have gotten very cold
And my heart no longer beats, though I am still alive.
I’m a stranger, they’re whimsy folks
Who lived here long enough
To make their statements quite bold.
I’m very tired, though I got to bear
This rod, forever and screaming,
Forever as a stranger
A foe to perceivable norms, disgrace and
A threat to so many of wonderful people
Well, just a very quirky man.
However, I’m not complaining,
Because they are back
And that is quite blissful.
Time cannot change and fix our Happiest hours, while also
Time cuts them at a given moment,
And this is fair, wile to try to make Them back would sound as if
Someone got very mad and blind.
I wonder whether time can speak to me.
Speak to me, mighty system, please!
Give us a chance to fix some bloody spots and make our feature sounding more somber then it seem it’s going
Rather to be it a day, although I think
The more we live the better for us
To keep a silence, because
Time likes its anonymity
While we’ll be gone unknown.