There is something aromatic.
Posted by Kristina Yenko , Wednesday, March 24, 2010 5:44 PM
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An Unexpected Miracle.
Posted by Kristina Yenko , Friday, January 22, 2010 11:32 PM
And so it began.
Just white lines passing by so fast that they eventually became a streak of light.
Distant voices seeped in through the crack in the window; faded laughs, footsteps being stretched on until they became the tiny pattering of moths against the headlights.
Movement coated us completely, and we swallowed it in return, for we too, now were part of the movement.
It was almost as though the pale torches painting the road ahead had become our own burning eyes, pushing curtains of dark aside, rich with the scent of musty air that stormy gods blew over our heads.
At Dawn
Posted by Kristina Yenko , Wednesday, December 9, 2009 12:03 AM
No one lights a lamp in order to hide it behind the door: the purpose of light is to create more light, to open people’s eyes, to reveal the marvels around.
I am going back, or, rather, part of me is going back to that world where only what we can see, touch and explain makes sense. I am in no hurry to get back to the world of speeding tickets, arguments with bank cashiers, eternal complaints about the weather, to horror films and blackouts. But only partially.
This is the universe I’ll have to live with for the rest of my days. I’ll walk many steps into the path of age, and the past will become a distant memory, which will in the end, make me ask myself: How could I have been so blind? How could I have been so ingenuous?
I also know that, at night, another part of me will remain wandering in space, in contact with things as real as a packet of cigarettes and the glass of gin before me now.
Sometimes I wonder, what if one never woke from that space, never left it. What if you spent days walking, eating, moving, but you weren’t there at all. Your mind is restless, you hear your thoughts of another taste, another smell. Confusion slowly creeps into your skin, through your teeth, up your hair. You sit behind closed doors like a night owl and write notes to self, but it’s all mangled, or either the pen is faulty.
Equilibrium
Posted by Kristina Yenko , Thursday, September 17, 2009 2:38 PM
Before the surface dries out
Before the basement burns down
Before the world is overwhelmed
Don’t tell me you give in.
To find it floating in my static dream,
This dream that colours life
And I’ve finally turned to my last page
To see you are stainless
To see you are living
Even though I am dying
My war is over:
Many things left unsaid
With no resurrection
With footprints caving in
But only in my sleep.
Humid
Posted by Kristina Yenko , Wednesday, September 2, 2009 9:20 AM
What is it about evening light,
that has the air laced with sweet perfume
Bare neck and shoulders bathed with gold
And dandelions almost too rich to stand tall
The sky was painted over, a perfect uniform violet
Soft little bugs bumped into each other
and I breathed in the brimming fluid of life
Two strangers turned into dust
walking along empty ghost roads,
still warm from the day before
Then the last thread of sun melts along the curves
of hills, soaked in hungrily,
Gone.
What is left, is that small moment.
Just one memory.
The first night of spring.
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