Any building I would start to build here turns into a prison
written by: Mykyta Ryzhykh
Maybe the problem is in the place itself,
in the cement and materials? Or maybe
it’s that I cannot distinguish between
the words house and building? Is the sky
really cruelly sharpened by birds?
Or is the problem that the planet and all
the roads are cruelly rounded and you are
forever forced to return back? In the end,
maybe the problem is that between two rivers
of loneliness a cemetery covers with moss
and silence continues to grow. Or that I remember
too many names and have no right to forget.
Maybe it’s true I do not remember the last
time I was happy and the clock is like water
in one of two bitter rivers? Or maybe the problem
is me. And where all the postal birds have gone
from my eyelashes?
Mykyta Ryzhykh is originally from Ukraine, now living in Tromsø, Norway. Nominated for Pushcart Prize 2023, 2024, he has published many times in literary magazines іn Ukrainian and English: Tipton Poetry Journal, Stone Poetry Journal, Neologism Poetry Journal and others.
Latest posts by Mykyta Ryzhykh (see all)
- Any Building I Would Start To Build - June 4, 2026
