why do i share writings?

to spread a little inspiration and light. or make somebody smile.

as simple as that.

thanks for appreciation

to those who understand.

shall be away for an undefined amount of time. beautiful days filled with joy and smiles to everyone.



coffee and leaves

from a yellow kitchen
to the hermit porch
grandma brought us
two cups of shadow light

a honey nebula wind
we took it
to the maple forest
and it bloomed
into a universe
of two thousand stars




(thank you)



as a little pause between versing, here’s an episode from my favorite Russian cartoon Smeshariki, which, to my joy, has been translated into English and other languages. ‘Smeshariki’ mean something like ‘little funny/laughing balloons’ in Russian, so i just wonder why it is Kikoriki in translation  🙂
what i enjoy about this cartoon is that each episode is either a subtle lesson on harmony, or is about the ability of very different characters to co-exist, or simply a stream of unbridled joy ❤

eien (grace)

warm jasper wind from beams of evening fireflies,
blue myths and cypress tunes amid the vineyard of the sun
she wears, from shadow of the moon unraveling
towards the coastal plain as autumn ships arrive,
in pulsing air balmed.

her night- a whispered waterfall along the blushing canyon,
a nectar spell extracted from the marvel of an argan tree.
where Chambers of Tel Sheva breathe with zephyr
sent from shaks of north-east carillons,
stargazers walk in orchards from the hymn
of sky-veiled bedouins.

in the embrace of desert constellations,
dancing in the amber dark
she chimes a bellflower
and the desert smiles


(for N.)


ноктюрн №2


осень безмерна –
и тепла, и холодна;
лучей ажурных сонм,
шелест заброшенных путей,
запах костров и ветра.
идешь – и странников дыхание
аллеи заполняет, и уходит пустота.
идешь – и, кажется,
что ладан голубых полей –
звезды святой прикосновенье.

и в дневнике из тьмы
родная речь – янтарная листва:
свет скрытых берегов;
кристальная луна,
цветущая дождями солнца.
в руке – каштаны из оврага
и амбры колокола.
когда жемчужный дым обнимет фонари,
туманами звучит река.
все сложно, и прекрасно,
и так просто.

вне времени

присутствие судьбы- туманные дороги,
ведущие к тому, что сердце знает и поет.
сонаты тихий голос, ночи острова и невесомость-
та, что целует облака и радости полет.

а в отражении соборов- вера неба
в дух осени, мгновения, поля за далью слов.
и все, что есть. и все, что Просто будет.
и даже все, что было – нежное вино из роз.


(…from deep thunder of lips fountains emerge along the ebb of dream day winds. soft exile, we are cloudborn in the shadowplay of pavements, in the scent of dervish leaves. that spin beauty without a thought, becoming air to dissolve and soar chiming, free. Grageth-Anoon, the rose whispers. and i feel, tiny lakes appear where back-alleys and cellars hide the lore of swan’s autumn wings. a quiet heaving..waters of heaven, here….)