Little Anna Healer


Anna is a sweet girl, beautiful and kind.

She loves all animals. Even the snails she doesn’t mind.

Anna also likes to imagine different things.

Drawings of butterflies come alive, she thinks…

Her imagination is special and makes everyone smile.

But in school, she needs to focus, at least for a while. 

Anna often looks out the window instead of doing her Math,

and likes to jump in the bathtub before her mom takes a bath.

That’s when she pretends to be a mermaid with a very long tail.

She jumps up and down while swimming with the whales.

Her mother loves her daughter and her world of dreams.

But often gets a little frustrated, it seems.

To be born

While I was drowning in tears, pinned to the bed,

 a very loud voice said in my head:

“Being born is the worst thing that could happen

 and it already happened to me!”

You don’t like it but it’s quite positive, you see:

The worst is done, you can’t do worse than that.

No wrong turns – no matter how tilted the hat.

The physical manifestation can be a nightmare

 but it can also take you k(NO)w where.

The worst deed is done, you are free.

Free of the fears you can let yourself BE!

Someday you’ll go, removing physical chains.

Eternity isn’t defined by the paths of the veins.

This body may be a temporary cage

but inside was born a rare blank page.

It was spat on, beaten, kicked around,

quietly suffering, without making a sound

after it was crumpled! Soaked! Squished!

And was often others’ favorite dish…

It quenched that strong inner thirst…

Just by deeply knowing the worst.

It realized it was still blank underneath,

and always a part of the almighty heath.


What is Evil?

“Who are you then?” 
“I am part of that power which eternally wills evil and eternally works good.” 
-Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

Within a dream of dreams,

in the most memorable room,

we talked about how equal are two extremes

like the Rise and Fall in the Existence’s flume.

Then you asked me: “What is Evil?“

And before the memory slipped away,

it left a kiss on the window of retrievals

and this is what it had to say:

In illusive Light, whatever’s real fades.

Existence captures Life inside its Breath.

The Mind seeks rest beneath the shade

as Time is harnessed in the chariot of Death.

The Motion is unstoppable, yet it does not move.

It cannot be slowed or forced in speed.

It cares not and does not seek to prove

but constantly assures us of our needs.

By accepting or rejecting parts of the Creation,

we run from Chaos and secure illusions in a frame.

And True Essence flashes in an instant fulguration,

unburdened to decide what to praise or shame.

The Mind dwells. “Which is first: the Night or Day?”

It questions: “Isn’t Light born in the Dark?

And if Darkness completely goes away,

can in Light be seen a single spark?”

But the Play is written and the roles assigned.

The characters have cloaked the Truth within.

The stories have been deeply intertwined

so that only Grace can dance between.

So Grace dances with an even step on every Pole

moves freely, and hides from the spotlight of precision,

it sees the best in worst and the worst in best of roles

and it isn’t tempted to place them on the lines of the Division.

There is no need to judge with a burden or an ache.

The Tornado can be just a tantrum of the Breeze.

It can swiftly blow or harm and break

only if we are not at ease.

Grace tames not, but lives the Wild.

The Path to Peace isn’t paved with satisfaction.

All Existence is meant to fold and be defiled

for Life is parallels’ most perfect interaction.

And what is Evil but a mere misconception

or the Virtuous in conflict with itself:

in a construct built by layers of deception,

scattered in the feeble stories of ourselves.

And for the Mind that’s torn by opposite directions

as Grace is always dancing in a peaceful bliss

between the crooked mirroring reflections,

all it takes is to accept, with Faith, Life’s one True Love’s kiss.


On the edge of Insanity

No sleep in countless days

awareness addles the forlorn mind

repeating horrific moments and I pray

to the point I don’t believe they’re mine.

To be at peace with a memory so bright,

I must become a lurid monster..

I shall never ever see a light

only shadows in the dark that maunder.

My Insanity! My Soul! My Master!

Leave me be in selfish peace!

My heart can beat no faster

than the echoed breath in silent ease.

My lost forgotten soul stands

there on the edge of insanity at last!

My mind shall flow into unknown lands

as the hands of dawn touch the meadow of my past.



My flesh is made of matter:

a house of cards that shatters

when the uncontrollable vibrations

swirl the self in drastic situations,

impossible for particles to reach,

where souls can learn to teach.

If only Life can make us scholars…

Do we experiment as body owners?

The phantasms in my dreams

make nothing of what it seems…

And I’m just a dreaming loner

who dreams experiences of personas…

But the ego does not feed and dress

when I feel I matter less and less…

And only matterless I will surrender

when there’s nothing to remember…

My peace lies in all that’s to be forgot

accepting trustfully I matter not.


The voice of the Bench

Does pain turn to fuel? Is it the source of power? We run away from pain and misery and aim for comfort, pleasure, and happiness, but isn’t pain one of the masters of refinement and empowerment? That deep, emotional, and groundbreaking pain that shakes you to the core and spins you uncontrollably…

Last night I went out with a friend to the Sea garden. We sat on our favorite bench next to the statue of Pushkin and under the street lights, we drank some beer and listened to Queen and Michael Jackson. People passed by us. I sang to the tunes and danced modestly to the beats… We did something simple, but not so common for the area: Two girls, sitting on a bench in the park, listening to music, that almost no one listens to anymore, drinking light beer at 10:00 p.m. on a Sunday… We wondered who would notice the songs and if our uncommon bench party would be acknowledged by anyone at all. We found it to be a fun experiment.

I was sure that whoever notices us would be in great pain… Happiness and comfort, even in the most modestly epicurean form, just aren’t the source of becoming aware of what happens around or what lies beyond. Because if you are satisfied, what would make you notice anything else other than your satisfaction? Eating a lot makes you sleepy. And if nothing has brought you to a shape-shifting catharsis, what would be the reason to take a look, or Universe forbid, step outside of the box?

“Man in the Mirror” was playing as a guy with a beer bottle walked by and said “Cheers girls”. He liked the song, and that he met someone who is listening to it at this hour, in this place. He said “good night” and walked away… I was deeply sure it wasn’t the end of our conversation. So I talked about him to my friend. I said to her: “See, for the past few hours, one guy has noticed our simple but unusual for this area, Bench party with Queen and Michael Jackson. Awesomeness!”

In a couple of minutes, he came back and asked us to play a song that he had on his phone: “The Voice” by John Farnham. He sat on the ground next to our bench…

“Do you know how old I am?” He began.

We didn’t say anything, waiting for him to tell us…

“I’m 22.” He continued… “Today I buried both of my parents… This is my mum’s phone and this is the first song in her playlist.”

“The Voice” is an old hit and was quite a suitable soundtrack for our magical encounter. So I found his song on YouTube and we played it. He said he’s sorry if he’s bothering or burdening us.

“Poor boy…” A vision of a little part of me said and cried a bit while sitting alone on the seashore of my mind. I felt Death around us, but for the first time, I remained calm and looked completely neutral to the stranger’s pain, even though inside I was very emotional. Without much effort I remained as natural and content, as I could be. I felt I was doing the best for him this way and so I talked to him with a calming voice and underneath the simple words we exchanged, there was a flow of inexplainable energy streaming. At this time my friend was quiet and empathetic as she too knew this kind of pain all too well… The young guy opened up.

“Life goes on,” he said.

“How did they die?” I asked although I assumed it is a car crash because both have died at the same time.

“Car crash,” he said, confirming my assumption. “I had a small operation and a few scratches.” He continued…

“Well, there is a reason for that, you know, make the most of it,” I said.

After that, he said he got into a fight with a guy and was arrested for it…

“It was like four people came into me…” he said.

Oh, I knew very well what he was talking about but I chose not to continue this conversation… I just said that aggression might not be exactly his answer. I told him to take all the pain in and integrate it… The song was over, he bid us a good night again and continued on his way… His last words to us were: “I’ll have at least 10 kids…” A vision of Screaming Jay Hawkins appeared in my mind… And somehow I saw some universal irony right there…

You see, Death has been my companion for a long, long time… We know each other well. Death comforts me sometimes, puts a cold blanket made of its breath on me that heats me, and gives me the empowering feeling and knowledge that this is all temporary like a flick. But Death’s comfort is not without a price. It started sweeping people from my life when I was very young. It flew like a raptor in the distance and rarely came near me. It grabbed its prey in its claws and flew at the speed of darkness. However, I’ve always felt the connection between us. Well, friendships require trust, loyalty, and honesty, but also exchange… Death has been closer to me this year than in the past few. It took away a dear friend and brought me strangers who dealt with the passing away of parents minutes or hours apart from when Death had flown low over their safe ground. Death is still close… But I’m starting to deeply understand now…


We are all living The Dream

Drink to cutting a piece
Drink to the almighty kiss
Drink to taking a piss
For I drink to silence and peace!

There’s never been an “after” before
There’s never an everlasting or evermore
There’s never been a safe shore
For there’s no need for anything more.

Conquer the Heaven and Hell
Conquer the hand that’s been dealt
Conquer all of the top shelves
For we’re conquering only ourselves…

Until there’s no thing left to mean
Until there’s no more live stream
Until all has been said and seen
Until all of it has never ever been
We are all living the dream…


Just a thought…

Is it a scrabble or a sound?
Is it a rope that ties you to the ground?
Is it an image of a lost internal link?
Is it the weariness that makes eyes blink?

…What is it like to have a head that thinks?

What if thoughts are there all along,
and this head is just not strong
to untangle the pile of knots
and release all imprisoned thoughts?

What if life is born in a hidden drawer?
What if thoughts have left because they’re bored?
What if it’s a mental game of hide and seek
and the mind is found only if it speaks?
What if this silence is what’s being sought?
“What am I?”
“Just a thought… just a thought…”



With a weak and drowsy head

limbs still sleepy, almost dead,

I woke up on a silent winter day

and at once decided inside to stay.

Bored I mourned my blemish soul,

so eager to fly like a helpless fowl…

The ache of burning memory flashes

turned my emotions into ember ashes.

In sour madness, my mind was gone,

therefore senses, at that time, I had none.

So bursting in tears I fell on the floor.

Chased by my fears, I reached for the door.

But even the door was so far, far away

and while reaching my memory went astray…

I forgot why I reached for that stupid door

and, again, bursting into tears I fell on the floor.

I realized something that was there all along.

It started repeating in my head like a tedious song.

That annoying voice: a dreadful, stubborn sound

that pinned all of my emotions to the ground,

unless my body rested helplessly – dead that is.

wouldn’t just let me be in peace,

The voice whispered repeatedly “never” in my ear.

“Never” was the word that combined all of my fears.

I shouted at the effigy I saw in the crooked mirror:

“Spare me, I cannot stand this! Bring my ending nearer!”

Breaking the silence again, the voice hissed “NEVER” in my ear.

It drove me so mad that I couldn’t see clearly!

I grabbed my reflection and threw it out the window!

But suddenly I was up in the air trying to winnow!

I fell to the ground and I couldn’t lift my body anymore.

My eyes gazed at a blade of grass as my sight began to soar.

Freeing from that fear, my reflection vanished into the void,

for NEVER is the word that can never have me destroyed…



Good night, goodnight,

my little knight,

my dear knight

of dreams

or so it seems…

“What will happen now?”

“No, don’t frown…”

I say: “Good night, goodnight

now there’s no creature to fight..”

You saw thousands of eyes

that were so tired they died

Your reality is now gone,

what’s left is an ugly gray stone…

At dawn when lightning strikes

I say: “Take that part of me you like,

so that you’re not alone.

it’s that rotten part of me that mourns

A new and better piece will soon grow –

a piece I’ll never show…

Sleep, sleep,

Deep, deep…

And wake up far away.

This flesh vessel is merely a tray.

And ashes to ashes…

Life is a force, here it merely flashes.

With you one of my reflections is gone.

And it wasn’t always beautiful, I know.

What I was to you will never reflect again.

A formation of a purer image has began…

Now I can’t miss what I never knew

what I really, really meant to you…

Good night, goodnight my brave knight,

’till we meet again in the vastness of the darkest night.”

All will be alright

All is to be right.