Existential Ponders – Ivan Peledov


Walking trees hide from yesterdays

behind stolen wine and unwritten music.

A flower spoiled by the dead 

got bored with counting the stars.

Let’s build a house out of the books

written by idiots. 


In a dream of a bird the night is long

like a bearded astronaut sleeping 

on the shore of a mountain lake,

like a silent word, like a raindrop. 

Barefoot angels ceaselessly dance on

crushed wine glasses.

The Lower Atmosphere

Shaggy rodents ceaselessly look for the urine of the stars

in the roar of the stairwells you would never be tired of.

Black grass scratches the shadows of hoary beings

forgotten somewhere between the folded waves of insomnia.

Puddle light can’t help cursing the sun.

Let me tell you a story too shrill for a pillow, too crumpled

and huge to be smothered with.


Ivan Peledov


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