by Valeriya Zhigalina
Big cities
Where you can only stand
To get to the scaffold
Of the only star
The crowd is always right
I was once a crowd
Buzzing and talking
Talking to myself
Oh, this wonderful argument
Sudden opening
Of doors and all locks
On banners it burns
Go, go and break in
How wonderful that the river
Takes people in its arms
And carries
Where to you
What a magical world
I know there is a place
Among the branches of trees
Like a breeze in the foliage
Like a butterfly in your hand
But you can only stand
To get to the scaffold
Of the only star
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ABOUT THE POET ~
I write poetry because reality, left to itself, is far too serious., I am interested in time, God, love, quantum physics, cats, death, mathematics, memory, and other perfectly ordinary things. In my poems, Einstein may wander into a love affair, God may be found under a microscope, a cat may understand life better than we do, and a hippopotamus may fly — apparently with scientific approval., I like philosophy, but I don’t entirely trust it. The universe is enormous, mysterious and possibly absurd, so sometimes the most reasonable response is to make a cup of tea and continue asking questions., I write about love and eternity, war and memory, science and faith, the ridiculous and the sacred. I suspect they all live much closer together than we think., If my poems occasionally seem strange, that may not be entirely their fault., Perhaps reality started it.
