Eugenia Dubinova

There was always a thought I was harboring, 

waiting for the right moon's crescent above us, 

waiting for the right soil, fertile and strong.

I've crossed the cold oceans—holding it,
...

You said I could trust it,
But by morning, I will finally wake up, without fleeting from the dream room.
I see this vision; it sings to me,
Comes inside me and leaks through me.
...

To die like a common man,
to embody the death that my father had predicted for himself,
as all those forefathers before him predicted and embodied themselves.
...

What if we were to observe our dreams,
As if we were only strangers who won a lottery
to a paradise land, for a temporary visit.
...

Loss has once again
bewitched me.
Everything that I did treasure—
I was fated to lose.
...

Rupture, what is it

I pledge my allegiance to the omnipotent force.
That in its love manifested life, that of a plant, then of me.
...

Can we understand love?
Touch it as a pure child,
with lovely hands, smelling of gentle soap.
...

Reciprocated heavens gazed at
untouched lips of dawn.
The only question that I hold
Is how to climb the stairs
...

Soft step, diamond frame on the window,
Imitating the rays.
That is what eyes are used to.
You and I were canaries in the coal mines;
...

Long awaiting on shore

for mysterious nights, 

that come to your doorstep,

holding a dandelion in their naked hand.
...

As Adorno has written it,
the splinter in your eye is the best magnifying glass available.
But do splinters reside only there?
As we walk on this grass,
...

Life of having two hearts
One that knew the love,
knew the eyes of doom,
knew the feeling of an upcoming tempest.
...

Pain spoke to me in a vernacular,
showing me familiar faces as a slideshow,
reminding me of all the roads I didn't take,
regretting never making a different turn,
...

You are me,
You are a fragment of me,
So come to me.
...

Cherries, pomegranates,
all colors of red.
And five hundred fifty-five seconds.
That's how I see color as number.
...

Why do I see you in this strange moment,
And why do your eyes possess some wild, unpronounced pain?
Let me not penetrate your soul.
But as a witch, I will; I will do it anyway.
...

Exhausted feet on the exhausted soil.
Glances we may or may not have exchanged,
that to us would remain a mystery, perhaps an illusion.
Because our eyes tend to reside in a transfixed habitat.
...

All our miracles,
we can whisper with coyness.
I can put my hand on your heart,
you can put your hand on my eyes.
...

One has to accept the times of no lights coming from the seashore.
One has to accept that pain can stand taller and paralyze the gentle heart of a stranger.
One has to accept the mirage of a starry night, mirrored in the wet eyes, house ablaze behind.
...

You left me here all alone,
but never will I blame you,
for I would never find a reason to be angry,
but I will find at least an eternal number of reasons to miss you.
...