Starting again.
I forgot almost everything. New country, new people, new things...
Only thinking about you was an anchor for my free ship.
Poems,stories and pictures by Irina Mouravleva.
Chapter 9.
Chapter 9.
His garden. We stood under the tree. It was a thunderstorm and we stood under the tree and didn't want to leave, hide in the house.
He was confused, probably, with his thoughts about me.
Chapter 8.
The secret life.
Almost all my childhood, until grade one, I was living with my grandparents.
My great grandmother was watching me, at her house, because my grandparents were working.
Most of the time old women, my great grandmother friends, stayed at the house. They were knitting, drinking tea and telling the times before the revolution and wars.
Chapter 7.
Legend of Pandora.
This is new. I have been thinking for a while about it.
Its about Second World war. A lot of this coming to our time, bringing memories not only of few, the family members, but of many.
He said, to tell him about it.
Chapter 6.
Chapter 6.
The Alien planet.
We are keep walking. Its like a dream. The same dream, I've seen long ago and I am adding something new to it.
I touch his hand and look at his eyes. He smiles, but not moving away his eyes.
Chapter 5.
Chapter 5.
Ancient Egypt.
White sand and sun... and waiving of the leaves on the terrace field with spices and music.
Woman in white clothes is entering the terrace, moving slowly and gracefully like a cat.
Chapter 4.
Chapter 4.
Seventeen century.
Someone opened window and everything around the house filled with the smell of grass and flowers.
We walked closely the the house and looked in the window.
Chapter 3.
Chapter 3.
The Magic Forest
He sat on the chair. I could feel him relaxing. He took a deep breath.
I gently placed my hands over his eyes and whispered, “Look inside.”
He remained quiet for a few minutes. Then he said, “I feel freedom.”
Chapter 2
Chapter 2.
The Café.
We sat in the café.Not only was there a table between us. There were years.
The table stood in front of both of us, separating us from each other. But perhaps it was also separating the past from the present.
It was symbolic.
Were we going back to the past, or were we going toward the future?
How many times had I imagined this day in my mind?
He looked at me.
Green garden and butterflies.
"Женись Володенька, пока я молоденька".
"Marry me, Vladimir, when I am still young."
( from country folk song)
Chapter 1
Watch the ButterfliesWatch a butterfly in the garden. At least one.
Look at how flawlessly and lightly she flies from flower to flower. How softly and happily she moves—left, right, it doesn't matter. Wherever she goes, she seems to bring the sunshine and softness of summer with her.
Chapter 10
The Station
My small room.A closet, a bookshelf, a piano, a desk in front of the window, a TV, a sofa bed, and a chair.
Every guest who visited us would stay here.
It was evening.
Chapter 1
The Ten-Cent Coin
Yesterday, at work, I was writing a story about magic during the Second World War.I had only a few minutes, so I wrote on a piece of paper and folded it before putting it into my pocket. Then I went back to work.
Later, I reached into my pocket to continue writing.
The paper was gone.
Chapter 8
Chocolate People
The old women seemed deeply troubled. The older they were, the more grief was etched into their faces. The eldest bit her lips, frozen in place, one hand covering her mouth.They stood together in a small circle around a rectangular stone monument. The inscription told everyone that a village had once stood there, until it was burned to the ground by the Nazis during the Second World War.
Chapter 5
Temujin
"I see it!" someone exclaimed."See what?"
The young man sitting across from him laughed at first.
Then, suddenly, he became serious.
His expression changed so quickly—from an almost boyish face, with only the first signs of a beard, into that of a grown man. His features became hard as stone. His eyes turned cold as ice.
I tried to see him more clearly.
Chapter 4
The Souls
She was young and beautiful.She had graduated from school and had all her plans ready for the new chapter of her life: mastering what people calledhealing with witchcraft.
She was the only woman in her family, and her “road” had been designed for her before she was even born.
“Go to university first,” her father said.
He was a warlock himself.
Chapter 2
Handsome man
A handsome man was looking at me.
If it hadn't been for his eyes—the windows of the soul—I might have looked at him differently. I might have admired his expensive suit, his necklace, perhaps even said something.
But his eyes told me enough.
I automatically looked away, thinking about the next bus or train.
The Ten-Cent Coin
Yesterday, at work, I was writing a story about magic during the Second World War.
I had only a few minutes, so I wrote on a piece of paper and folded it before putting it into my pocket. Then I went back to work.Later, I reached into my pocket to continue writing.
The paper was gone.
I checked my pockets again. I looked around me, under the things on my worktable, and everywhere I could think of. Nothing.
Then I noticed something else in my pocket.
A ten-cent coin.
1.
В танце далеком
Ты ворон, шаман,
Сверкает звезда под луною.Ты мой капитан, ты мой капитан,
Иду я в даль за тобою.
Зеркальный ли город,
Задумчивый стан.
В снегах заскрипели упряжки.
Любви капитан,
Царь из волшебной ты сказки.
Суровые ветры, степные цветы
Твоим заворожены танцем.
И смотоят они на тебя так как мы,
Не могут совсем оторваться.
Тайна волшебная, скорость минут.
Шаман или ворон, не знаю.
Я знаю лишь только,
Вдруг ветер умолк,
Ты птицей и в танце летаешь.
Woman and war.
She was young and beautiful, graduated from school and had all plans put together for the new chapter of her life in mastering what people "healing with witchcraft". She was only a woman in her family and her "road" was designed for her before she was born.
"Go to university first", - her father, warlock himself, said. He was educated himself, and proper education, this what he admired first. People without proper spiritual cleaning, education, even good talkers, meant nothing to him. He was old fashioned and high in his magic position and opinion.
Oh bella ciao.
War united them... Second World War united people who would never met in the real life. And twisted their lives in some strange magnificent circle where everything gets connected by invisible special power. When millions of personal stories becomes one and stay one may be forever.
Four shining lights.
Snow, snow, snow… little flakes are drifting down on the road outside my window.
It is January. Dreamy hour at work again. This is what snowstorms create, quiet, romantic, unreal time when you want to think about far away moments, smooth, warm and cold like the weather outside and endless with all the dreams still where they are.
In falling snow, I always think of him.
Although we met in summer, snowflakes remind me of him more than sunlight ever could. Cold, distant, yet caring and strangely happy.
"Portals".
Chapter 1
Chocolate People
The old women seemed deeply troubled. The older they were, the more grief was etched into their faces. The eldest bit her lips, frozen in place, one hand covering her mouth.They stood together in a small circle around a rectangular stone monument. The inscription told everyone that a village had once stood there, until it was burned to the ground by the Nazis during the Second World War.
Chapter 7. Echo across the river.
Chapter 7.
Echo across the river.
We spent every summer here before the Revolution.
We were standing on a small hill overlooking the river and a young pine forest that had been planted only a few years earlier. The tiny trees stretched across the blue sky like thin green lines.Together with the other village children, all of us barefoot, we listened to two very old people who still remembered the years before the Revolution of 1917.
Chapter 6. Different Eyes
Chapter 6.
Different Eyes
It was summer when I began learning about herbs.An elderly woman was teaching me and another student who was twice my age. We walked through fields and gardens, learning to recognize medicinal plants, when to gather them, and how to dry and store them.
I listened carefully.
At that time, I was planning to study medicine at university.
Chapter 5. Another Man
Chapter 5.
Another Man
Another man came over and started talking.He was more serious than the first one.
Shorter.
Dressed like anyone else.
Nothing unusual. Nothing luxurious.
Just ordinary.
He talked, but he rarely smiled.
1.
Она играла на пианино
Всегда задирая рукав.
И номер рыже синий
Как будто с ней тоже играл.
Я папа первой не стала,
И даже не стала второй.
Я просто пришла с вокзала,
Я просто пришла домой.
Сижу шевелиться не смею,
Есть час еще про запас.
И час закружится в вальсе волшебном,
Напомнив нам что-то в тысячный раз.
Снег на березах, клуб у дороги,
Кружаться пары и папа играет нам вальс.
Мальчик красивый танцует со мною, но только несмотрит в глаза.
Весенней порою, военной тропою,
Уйдет он в болота, леса.
Хороших знакомых сын.
Папа смеется, играет,
Давно за нас все решил.
Зима пролетела и лето.
А осень в пожарах была.
Горел старый клуб,
Забывшийся вдруг старый рояль.
Война в город наш пришла.
И ночью холодной
И в серости дня.
В холодном бараке, всегда.
Закрою глаза и слышу я вальс,
С мальчишкой кружась до утра.
"From beginning to beginning"
Chapter 1.
Old House.
My old house stood outside a small city. Somewhere far away, between two train stations and two rivers.
It stood among farmland, forests, and gardens that were together for hundreds of years, like invisible guards watching over the whole our region wich was older then thousand of years according to found historical objects.
How many times did I come here?
And how many times I did not want to come here.
I was very young, almost a child, and those days felt as though they would last forever.
My grandmother is reading a book. My great-grandmother is sitting quietly, looking out the window. She was always at the window, it was her favorite place when she was at home.
"Я хорошо помню этот день".
Я хорошо помню этот день, точнее вечер, а еще точнее почти ночь. 9 марта 2014 года, воскресенье. Если забежать вперед и сложить 9 + 3 + 2014 будет 2026, сегодня, но это длинная по времени и пространству история.
9 марта я и отец моего ребенка ехали в машине и ругались из-за денег.
Я поставила диск с военными песнями что бы не слушать его.Иосиф Кобзон пел патриотические песни о Великой Отечественной войне.
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