Emigration
We continue to introduce you to young writers. This time, we present the Moscow poet Ronikam— a guy born in Moscow, in his thirties, who has fallen out of ordinary reality. He lives in a cart somewhere between Tbilisi and Moscow.
***
Sudden loss of connection — come on, stop. You sat on ataraxia, I — at the bottom. The wind is fatal, the meeting was canceled, But still — let there be no war.
On insensitivity, a dotted sentence, The obviousness in lumps — into the pits of wounds. You are deceptively alive still, A couple of sessions — and Iran will be rebuilt.
Laughter and flame, the hearths of ashes Along the wreckage of the Untouchable without “suddenly.” Not by chance, but we are not enemies, Just, before meeting — a fear.
The fear of freedom, the fear of embraces, just fear. Not with verbs to fight in confinement. Again “Yes,” a grain sticks to the teeth, Life is independent — a rope of paths.
Under the hollow sky, no renewal can be found, Better to fall — pulse at the sacrum. Life with breath, a pinch outward, A drop of shame from the mischief of the nipple.
The ruffled rooster will sing the song of grief, Onyk — like a little pig… Nearby, a character is whining. Restlessly, the plane pulls towards the abyss, Happy without a bottom, happy with the scars of surroundings.
***
Fatigue, the knee-breaking twist. Yesterday — a friend, now a packet. Where the dawn edge flickers, A fresh bouquet of your tales.
Little phrases pour into my ears. It’s a pity they don’t stick — the lubricant is gone. That is, you remember what happened — not fairy tales, So it stings and dances the soul.
Through “when” and with meaning, vows, Through the sorrow of those gone far away. Call me, sky, summer, There, from the window into the darkness — the days of youth.
A silhouette of an important girlfriend, The bitterness rings sharply from boredom. Nerves scatter, like servants, To places and people under the beat.
This is a tremor, a prelude to a sigh. Life is not a field — lived, and they sing. Fatigue. For someone — an era. For someone over the grave — a salute.
***
Hide the absence of the ability to love, To do something, or a shot through the window. The situation is out of the ordinary. The lanterns Form silent laughter, a spindle.
The pattern is woven by nerves, a memory. Sorrow, and somewhere, a chirping in the ear — little bells. The sleigh rushes through the snow, with a conversation with the sky: “Where to? And where is the way to Solovki?”
In that random moment, standing on the street, To recognize if someone asks for your hand. You don’t feel it, but you remember me, For desire, your strength is not needed.
Behind the possibility, the earth smolders, Behind the defocus in helplessness — a tear. From the moment, you can live, not die, Only a fool’s mind paints images.
Hopeless descent of the bones. Whether in checkers, the notorious nod, Unceremoniously — let it lie abandoned, Or love — well, then through the mouth a yawn.
Ah, deceptive scars-blisters, A bed distorted by reality. I said there are worlds further ahead. But for now, go to the side from here.
***
Conversation. A breakdown of interjections. Flame steadily nods in the distance. A storm threatens with the bad weather. The day began… already deceived.
The contents of the whole year, The entrance point into the emptiness, Where freedom burns on the walls, In the heat’s reflections — about something dreams.
The second-year student stuck on the inside: How to get through this day to the end? To grab life — like Tarzan, Losing only a little bit of face.
Betrayal distorts grimaces. Reflection — also an outcome. Explain, how much plastic did you eat, To live among the world could you?
Or is the voice that sounds — a whim, The understanding is clouded by glances. Since I betrayed — in the role of Judas, Why does this heart whine?
What they teach us — is awarded, Ashes fall, flakes of offense. The finger nervously taps behind the fence, Apologizing for not being dead.
Unobtrusively, under the skin of meaning, To justify — and onward, backwards. I live, while troubling the body, And with my soul, I leaned on hell.
So clearer — the habit of control. “Love” — that’s what the doctors taught. Or enemies from that mined field… Maybe I mixed up the dream? Shout.
Dance on the border of paradise — That’s your role. Where’s the script? In tears. Heal, teach, rejecting. On repeat — destruction, a flap.
Confusion. Who’s truth is this? Phrases, rustling, running through fire. Waiting to live, then the ticket, Or when the inscription flashes — “I love”.
October 2025.
***
It is necessary to take care in dirty corners — Gliding lightly, purring with filth. Obviously, you live, sharing ashes, Kicking the song of love through a cough.
With reflected excess, I’ll keep quiet, Stirring it so you understand it clearly. Dear friend, keeping the provisions, Look around — maybe you’re dead, satisfied?
Small-small on the cheeks of love — The whim of meanings, a pimple’s pus flickers. Spank, buy, hug. And the consciousness melts like butter.
Realization, whose fool are you here, Your presence flickers, scratches. Oh, sorry, irrelevant question: Not about sex, or how life here is lived.
For you were taken from the start, They placed pranks in your head. You’re a factory vessel without a king, A squinting concept on injections.
Too bad. Emotionally covered gently. From “when” — the damned tremor by the wall. Rain cuts through the sores in a straight line, Moral veins are appearing.
***
Where something suddenly repeats from a dream, No rhyme, alas, fear, but it scrapes with importance. And if spring rises from the veins aloud — It won’t sprout, it will rather spread.
To finish, the scar from tears itches in the brain. Spit, your memory smears itself. Doubt — my homeland, my beat: I joke with a heap, I know how to hurt.
You practice a harmless form Of closeness, sex, caresses through the membrane. And somewhere there, you can barely hear the dog whine. The world is crumbling into a funnel, spasms in the bath.
From childhood, I remember, leaf through the years, Tell about what pains exist in the world, Where now are the wires from the heart? They are not sneakers — roles dry in oil.
Notorious clouds of “I want.” Step, abyss, run or stay. Your fear, you want — I’ll swallow it with a sneeze, While the strict bride doesn’t see.
25.10 – 17.11.25
***
Tomorrow, drops of death, rewinding, Rhombus phrases about the days, blood in the floor. The image formed in the gums — or the throat Will call to the dinner table.
Tomorrow life will transplant closer. The squint, soaked in tears. The moment will tear into meaningless sludge Or poisoned by emotion, a surge.
Tomorrow is Tuesday, born on Saturday, Will choke on the Buddhist path. Or meanings will multiply with vomiting — In the middle of dreams, we reflexively sing.
Tomorrow in “was” hangs somewhere there, Either an eternal draft, silence blows. Arranged with flesh from spam, Above space, shamelessly you soar.
Tomorrow, the day will turn into a chase, What to hit yourself with in the echo. Tie childhood’s burrow with a tongue. The body freezes with an attempt in the hand.
***
There is no peace from people, just the laughter of the inside out. You don’t have the right ticket for the session about tanks. The sun drips from the face, songs and lies. You have so much villain in you, that traps buzz.
The mosquito season from hope is blowing with sweat. Screams, children, sucked-out honeycombs. To fly like a bird near the beam until the sunset trill, Sadness — just a way of life’s smoke, how we managed it all.
Retelling sticky dreams — the entourage of wintering, Tripped over love there, by the pillow. Bare, shy steps on glass and snow, Putting on boots, they nullified the pleasure.
Demons-demons, like a catch, you love tales, Whether blood or sperm along the corners — that’s all the mischief. On repeat, the carousel, rhythmically flowing, Memory — a heap of speeds on the window with geranium.
Lullaby at night for unborn children. Fear, today you scream loudly at dawn. Wake up, leave a scar, a painful mark, So that sometime, a fool remembers the days of candy.
It’s a shame. Cry. Where’s the tear? An empty pocket without sorrow. I always want — a storm and the sound of the sea in my ears. My feelings — a guide in the nettles. The lanterns smell like blood. Squeeze the drain. And it was.
***
This inscription with blood on the lip About freedom, unnoticed by the stream. In the shine, hands grope through fate, Bitterness suddenly becomes subjective.
It comes alive, wandering along the edges, Like a virus, it drags along the body. Forgetfulness, where occasionally caught: Nerve flashes, shaking desires.
The conversation like the melody of a maenad — Complaining, shameful with scratches. Every moment, a song of Sodade, Do you hear, the tone in the pre-chamber breaks.
The plan for old age — the executioners groan, Written in uneven “maybe.” The conscience of the battery heats up, Disturbs with the mosquito’s lust.
Therapy, blood stands by the eyes. The cat’s pulse meows at the darkness. Give the void away, whoever you didn’t save. “Ave” will be read over the grave.
Close to close, whispered into the hole, Giving epaulettes, what was before. Smile, if I die first, Burn all the tears about hope.
***
Dreams on the hard drive, irrecoverable debts. Letters of happiness — a swarm from the past, but not. This time rubs boots And sends greetings to restless wounds.
Feelings — maybe, forgot The smell of something important under May’s November? Screams from above or songs from the graves — Cut your root, here is Absence, we’ll leave.
Life scrapes with a tremor in the light, just like you. Here’s the link, here’s the quote — pick it up. Step into the vacuum, calculate with poverty. Too bad, not in “Brother,” where suddenly a shot — and into the tram.
Promises on a pinch — cab, From attempts, they’ll refuse us brakes. What was yesterday? It may not have been serious. Just, Mama, it wasn’t explosions, but a storm.
The day rushes — the wires of meanings snap, We’ve reached the finale, where we weren’t expected. From the emotions of grown-ups — chaos. From the smile, everyone will feel lighter… Barely.