the world didn’t know how to stop. it turned, throwing on the ground seeds for new stories.
(my grandma) raised her head upwards, she saw the stars as the points of silent stories: they speak the clearest.
she blinked and turned a new page.
hamlet was tortured by the question to be or not to be.
with igor isakovski it is clear: he was and has remained being.
poets know how to deal with death.
