Mi hielo фон

Tell me what have you seen
Beneath the shade of twelve
Suns?

Where fragility carries the scent of trust,
Where the world has no straight black lines,
Where countless rainbows glow,
and the leaves of those trees have a silver lining.

Where time is jelly, and the air hangs -
Deftly tinted, diluted, steeped;
Where all your progress is a mousetrap,
Where time is a machine, and air is jelly.

Like snails, the same shadows they carry,
Outrunning their own speed of light,
Shedding their legacy around every bend,
They mark out the path, seeing off their kind.

Where freedom has no shores,
A star is a bearing, the sails are of chalk;
Where wholeness cannot be broken
By the futile efforts of small bodies.

Where every colour is new,
And beauty is in the eyes
Of the Creator.



“Mi hielo фон” was created in collaboration with the artist @rushka_art and was inspired by one of her works. The poem emerged as a verbal continuation of its visual world - an attempt to enter the image and discover the laws by which it lives.
“Mi hielo фон” is a poem about a world that exists alongside ours, yet is assembled according to different laws. There, twelve suns do not blind: they create shade.
Time loses its solidity and turns into jelly, the air becomes an infusion, and movement becomes a form of memory.
Straight black lines do not exist because no boundary still seems final. Even shadows can outrun their own light and leave their luggage behind at the bend.
Progress becomes a mousetrap when it leads only to the repetition of an earlier form. Freedom begins where the shore ceases to be a condition of return.
Fragility carries the scent of trust, while wholeness survives despite the efforts of smaller bodies to divide it - an allusion to Small Solar System bodies in astronomy.
The silver linings of leaves become evidence of different physics and another kind of hope. The title combines Mi, as a musical note, the Spanish word for ice, hielo, and the Russian word фон, meaning background, turning language into yet another element of this world.
The poem does not so much describe an alternative reality as test our own claim to being the only one.
Perhaps every new colour already exists. It simply needs the gaze of a Creator.