by Valeriya Zhigalina
Earth-sickness: a topological neurosis
A toy of a dreadful existence
The triumph of the absurd over reality
Out of a million variations
Yours is the best
A ladder is set against it
So you can climb up
The universe: a machine for creating gods
And all around, Witnesses from the most diverse perspectives
You will succeed,
Otherwise why this game at all?
Besides, everything is so beautiful it borders on hysteria.
The world is perfect — like a giant springboard.
The complex is simple and brilliant.
The barbarism of specialisation has clouded our eyes
But you’re a philosopher
It’s easy for you to make sense of it all
- Share this Poem:
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.
