yanadjin.blogspot.com
Yana Djin: January 2010
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Current Poems http:/ yanadjin.narod.ru. A statue with no hands of feet A torso in the air . Think nothing of it. View my complete profile. Sunday, January 31, 2010. It was in the dark room. That my heart stood erect. And immobile like a stork. And as i held myself to be immune. To love. it came upon me. Like the summer storm. I remember the day we met in may. But i never thought. That what god giveth. He then takes away. Posted by Yana Djin. Saturday, January 30, 2010. A statue with no hands of feet.
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Yana Djin: May 2009
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Current Poems http:/ yanadjin.narod.ru. Think nothing of it. View my complete profile. Wednesday, May 27, 2009. The color of loss. The three wise men. Dreamt of the cross. And opened their eyes. In search of a word. They prayed to the Muse. Posted by Yana Djin. We just don't recall. As if the cord. Between the soul and flesh. We think we start fresh. Into that porfiry September. When you were a deer. Skipping along the rocks. In search of your doe. Posted by Yana Djin. Monday, May 18, 2009.
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Yana Djin: Eleven (for my Father)
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Current Poems http:/ yanadjin.narod.ru. Eleven (for my Father). Think nothing of it. View my complete profile. Saturday, April 27, 2013. Eleven (for my Father). Eleven ( for my father). Years later, to be precise, eleven,. On the day that butchered your heart into splinters,. The gray steel of water reflects the heaven,. And your features come through in a blurry filter. I don't imagine that you ever grew neutral,. Relentless but hurt you tear through chaos,. Shoving off the call of the reason - brutal,.
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Yana Djin: May 2011
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Current Poems http:/ yanadjin.narod.ru. Think nothing of it. View my complete profile. Tuesday, May 31, 2011. It’s not you. It happens every time. It isn’t your piercing, pulsating cock,. Or your blood-soaked, tender heart. Or your hands –. So definitely coarse and hard,. Or your eyes – naked,. Desperate for the cover of night. It is life that passes through. Like a needle of light. And leaves one ripped, rippled,. It’s not you. I’ve seen them before,. Almost all –. The little, primitive Hamlets. Http:/ ...
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Yana Djin: February 2011
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Current Poems http:/ yanadjin.narod.ru. Empty Days In the Desert. Think nothing of it. View my complete profile. Sunday, February 6, 2011. Empty Days In the Desert. Stuck in this desert. Upon which I stumbled. As if it were a rock. And not a flat terrain. Rain on me the indifference,. The desires, the angry curses. Still, I will not budge. The still water - the color of lead -. Speaks of all the dead that we have not. And permeate my brain. With the unspoken nostalgia. Burn further into nonexistence.
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Yana Djin: April 2009
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Current Poems http:/ yanadjin.narod.ru. Pigeon on 54th Street. Think nothing of it. View my complete profile. Saturday, April 25, 2009. Watching the lump of sugar. Absorb the coffee and everything else died. Soul was bare. stark. Like a stork - still on a desolate plain. Then you entered my mind again. As if you were always. Posted by Yana Djin. Thursday, April 16, 2009. Little girl, did your boy leave? Or did your cat die? Little girl, wipe your eye. Yes, my boy, he left me. And the cat, he died. How ca...
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Yana Djin: January 2011
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Current Poems http:/ yanadjin.narod.ru. Think nothing of it. View my complete profile. Thursday, January 27, 2011. The wars - they'll be fought again. The holy dove - she will be caught again. It's been a while. Life without you has been hard. Even the bottles don't help. This is not a yelp of a lost dog,. Nor a cry into the tender night. The indifferent fog protects me from clarity:. From the precision of knowing. Is only going to illuminate the lack,. The edges of loss -. Eveyone's future - is the cross.
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NodarDjin
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Yana Djin: June 2010
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Current Poems http:/ yanadjin.narod.ru. Song of Unrequited Love Played to Arabic Music. The Primitive Song of Life. Eastern Song of Childhood. Think nothing of it. View my complete profile. Saturday, June 26, 2010. Song of Unrequited Love Played to Arabic Music. A long time passed. And he didn't come back. I was so full of pain. I could cry for one hundred years. Would hear only things. And he would walk the ground. Like a blind preacher. Who doubts his step and belief. He would write: SMILE. I do not lie.