Acts of Justice - Essay

Over the rural road of Gori,
Only a quiet dusk will breathe,
Along the street, raising the bow,
Soso sneaks silently.

Every evening she hallucinates.

Listen, she says, and starts choking out sounds. These are not words, but they have so much meaning!

You understand me? she asks and Sound answers her.

This Sound is it. He is named, having body and flesh. But he is only Sound. And it is not clear - is it an echo of her own words, is it the beating of her tearing heart, or is it a reflection in a broken mirror? He talks, but she talks! What is it - a hoax, or is he so close to her?

And yesterday he was gone - he is dead. The twisted body with twisted arms, with a squeezed head and festering eye sockets, the orderlies squeamishly took away with them. With him, the smells went away, but the aromas did not appear. Color and reflection, sound and echo, flying in the hypnotic reality disappeared a little later, when the effect of psilocybin ceased. The hallucination disappeared, but she disappeared with it.

In a dark room, completely alone, but no - the room is empty. She is just a habit. No name, no face, no reflection.

Far.

For a long time and uselessly I repeat my “I love”. I fall to my knees from the unbearable burden of silence. I became a bent being, aging my soul for compassion.

How unpleasant it sounds: “Neglected”, but as if yesterday, I was the same as everyone else...

Just yesterday, my love was at hand, to make an effort, to try... But, damn it, I'm singled out from everyone! And I'm destined to feel those hands that push me away.

These hands caress ... and I'm worse. They don't even lie to me. I know these hands will still call me into their arms, but what will be left by that time from them, and from me?

Withered dead souls, cold palms, wasted magic of tenderness... No! It does not awaken the will to live.

From what? You still ask why! Born to kill - kills. Born to love - loves. He who wants to lie lies, and the fool is born to believe!

And I imagined: the symphonic music abruptly broke into a squeak - the violin shuddered and fell silent. Violet spots, like the glass of someone else's window, missed the vision. My beloved - yes, this is her - in a distant, half-dark, foul-smelling apartment, in the company of decaying corpses, laughing wildly and crawling on the floor - she catches Sunny Bunnies! Her shamelessly bare breasts hang and dangle, the wrinkled skin of her nipples touching her unwashed boots. She reminded me of a decrepit old woman who lived her 90 stormy years and came close to the solemn moment of burial.

And suddenly I didn’t care - I realized that I didn’t want her.

But it seemed like a stone's throw ... But it seemed - you need to make an effort and not look for easy ways in difficult matters...

©Mikhail Dmitrienko, Alma-Ata