4 Poems by Mykyta Ryzhykh
Three
Here is your scalpel
Cut it like it was before
Let the air be cut into two equal parts
Let everyone turn around and look at us
The three of them walked towards the child
Each of them saw himself in this child
And the old women prayed under the apple tree
As flowers blossomed explosions
The children and old women hurried to the shelter
And the three warriors remained standing at their post
They remained standing
Defense
God, Jesus, and your elder brother
Eternal defense
~~
The evening
you are angry
no
and yes
you spread your leaves, and you spread your arms
like a withered hyacinth that no lover can save
in this world forgotten by all invented gods
like the sun wheel on the chariot of the sky, your soul rolls
along the surface of the air
you ride
you fly
and you float
like a white swan in black syrupy water
you are dying of thirst
you are dying of love
you are dying without love
all the answers and questions have already
been put aside in a folder with a shelf life
your face has broken the mirror
the mirror has broken your face
I am waiting for your return again and for the first time
and the air that my lungs breathe is also you
it is impossible to have nostrils and memory and not know
that you are not my flower and never belonged to me
and what does the garden talk to itself about except loneliness
all the flower shops are already closed and the evening
and the evening
and the evening talk show is about to start on TV
you smell of loss and death
no you don’t smell old age
you smell like everything to me
~~
The snake
The electricity in my apartment was cut off for non-payment, but it was dark here before. Cold poverty swallowed the candlelight with chitinous lumps. A worker was disconnecting some wires leading from my apartment to the common meter. The fogged black windows dripped onto the bloody floor like a blind waterfall. Muffled bodyless rustles tried to intimidate my silent stillness. You can cut off my corpse’s leg, you can disconnect my pupils from the grapevine television, but I’ve always known that light is an illusion for those who are not blind. My eyes have never eaten. I don’t even know what the world looks like. At this point, my brain isn’t even sure I’m still alive. Someone is scrabbling like a scarab in my sandy tomb of time. I randomly pick up a stack of pills and swallow them down with infused darkness. I think I can see the sky. This sky looks like a cider box that I have left over from my last summer of perpetual snowfall. This cold prevents me from seeing, but I feel like I’d be just as alone if I were sighted. I’m like a greedy seagull grabbing another armful of pills and chugging a beer. I eat and drink you, my Jesus. Your hair is so reminiscent of the hair of the guy I loved that apple summer. The snake candle makes a noise like a surf. I am still afraid to open my eyes. I still cherish my sweet blindness as a gift from an angel. And the stranger in the hood of death still stands on the threshold and languishes in anticipation. The bridge of the nose. Two eyes live in the distance. Time to sleep.
~~
Colony
grass grows everywhere like death
i walk towards the sky, and grow green as greenery, red as redery blood
someone is crying in the middle of this green world
but what is this: it is an abandoned baby
ants are crawling on his fragile body
my ant nature is crawling on my fragile thinking
I am the executioner in the middle of this green world
but what is this: I am an abandoned baby
ants are crawling on my fragile body
my brain is glued together like with pva
and i am only a servant of the ant queen
grass grows everywhere like death
Copyright © 2026 Mykyta Ryzhykh
All Rights Reserved
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