Friday, March 11, 2022

Dear Mr Putin

I have known you for more than 20 years.
I remember when on a school trip to St Petersburg in 2000
We talked about you as Bloody Putin
People knew already then you are not afraid
To let some blood to flow, a lot of blood.
Anyone's blood 

I have to admit
I have secretly admired you
For your bullshit
For being able to bullshit so much
To use people as your puppets
Both is Russia and in the West
What a clever manipulator!
Make people bow and show their respect
Be it real or out of fear
Or just because they are genuinely polite
and do not recognize any other

But politeness is clearly weakness
Genuinity is to be used and manipulated with
Clearly, for you…

Now, looking at your speeches...
Your long tables…
Your poorly photoshopped videos…
One might feel sorry for you…
You might just need some contact
Konni is not around anymore… but google says you have other doggies
Or you need genuine human contact…
A hug.
No-no-no… genuinity is weakness…

You have a hazy look.
Your eyesight do not look so sharp anymore.
As it was years ago.
It reminds or the one Mr Brezjnev had
In the end, before he died, when he hardly could
Read out a full sentence, super slowly…

I think you are the prisoner of your own manipulations.
As all the old Soviet leaders were.
Nobody tells you the truth anymore
You have started to believe your own bullshit
That is what your eyes tell me.
Ukrainians need to be protected from their own democratic leaders – my ass!
Your eyes have lost their sharpness
You do not manipulate anymore
You believe it
Nobody tells YOU the truth anymore
You have succeeded
An advanced chapter in Orwell’s stories.
Nothing sympathetic left there
Hugs would just be waisted

I hope the rats will eat you alive
I wish an umbrella will open in your stomach
Just jump from the Kremlin’s tower together with your family and “friends”
(but leave the dogs)
I hope you could give birth to a hedgehog
And while you do it – a bomb would blast in your ward
I wish you had a pancreatic cancer
Just pour hot tar over your head
I hope million mosquitos would bite you
And you would slowly bleed to death
I wish you borrowed Navalny’s underwear
Just put a gun on your mouth and shoot
I hope omicron would still come around to "hug" you
I wish you all the best!

Tuesday, March 8, 2022

Naistepäeval mõtlen armastusest.

Naistepäeval mõtlen armastusest. 

Kas armastus on naiselik?
Armastus on hellus ja hoolivus?
Samas, mehedki ju armastavad. Tean. Näinud.
Nagu yin jag yang – igaühes leidub mõlemat poolt.

Sõja ajal on teistmoodi armastada,
öelda: ”Ma armastan sind”
See tundub olulisem
See loob lootust
Armastus on ühtekuuluvustunne, 
Armastus on empaatia.
Öelda nii oma mehele, kes stressist kookus,
kuigi turvaliselt kodus ja tööl ja ühiskonnas
oma arvamust avaldamas ja
oma teadmisi jagamas ja
abiplaane välja haudumas.

Öelda nii oma lastele, kes hommikuti ei taha ärgata.
Ja iga rõõmsama sõnumi peale pettuvad,
et see sõnum polnud: ”Sõda on läbi”.

Söögilauale unustatud mustad sokid ei ärrita enam
sama moodi.
Lauamänge võin mängida,
raamatut ette lugeda
lõputult. Väsimata. 
Pahurdamise peale ei ärritu,
sest rahulikuks jääda on lihtsam.
Ärrituda tundub mõttetu
nende triviaalsete asjade peale.
Ärritus on üldse kuhugi tunnetevaka põhja ära kadunud. 
Ei mäletagi enam, mis see oli..
Sest on armastus.

Ja olulisim: armastus on mõtetes
Paljudes mõtetes. 
Kõigis mõtetes
Igas mõttes
Tahtmatult sõtta sattunuile  
Lastele, kes põgenevad kodust,
hea kui ema, vanaemagi kaasa saavad
Vanuritele, kelle kauaaegsed kodud lagunevad...
Nimekiri on pikk.

Ja isegi sellele kurjusehällile mõeldes
saates temalegi armastust,
Kuigi ega loota pole, et ta endas naiselikkust leiaks,
naiste päeval või mõnel muulgi päeval,
armastust leiaks.
Armastusele armastusega vastaks..  
Selline lootus on naiivne. 
mõtetes saadan armastust
Sest sõja ajal on teistmoodi armastada. 
Armastus loob lootust. 

Friday, October 1, 2021

The wheel of stress

I know how it goes. 
First, you realize how much work there is to do
Then you tell me about it 
Then you cannot sleep properly
And you tell me about it
Then you need massage
And you tell me about it
Then you have a boring, waste-of-time meeting
Then you tell me about it
Then you need to work the whole weekend
And you tell me about it
And I go and spend the time with the kids elsewhere
Then you want to read me your text
And you read it to me
While I prepare lunch, clean, light the fire... 
Then you go to work in a café
And come back
And tell ma that the sink is not clean enough, the fire is not proper.. 
And that you have even more work to do
And then I get sad
And do not want to listen anymore
And my face go grey
And my eyes get soggy
You ask: what is happening, what is happening, what did I do?
And I just do cannot speak
There is a lump in my throat
And I just take my dog
And go for a walk
When I come back, I am calmer
But you have been panicking
And you are as cold as ice
Towards me
Because I ruined your evening
You are correct
I did
And I am sorry
I knew it would happen. 
But you book a hotel-room
And escape
Because you cannot be around
And I feel lighter too
It is a good idea
Because, I love you
But sometimes it just gets too much
And grows over my head
See you in few days
And I will not ask you again about how are you doing
Because I cannot take in
All your problems
Without flipping out myself 
In the end

Saturday, April 17, 2021

Place and community

It does not matter 
where you are
you are still
It does not matter
who you know
you are still 
It does not matter
where you move
you are still 
It does not matter
who you see
you are still 
It does not matter
where you go
you are still
It does not matter
to whom you talk
you are still 
It does not matter
where you imagine yourself
you are still
It does not matter
to whom you text
you are still 
It does not matter
if you are alone
you are anyway

Sunday, November 1, 2020

Cannot let go

I will keep it
I will keep it to myself
I will keep it in my thoughts
I do not want to talk about it
I do not want to write about it
Absolutely not write about it
Maybe talk a little bit...

But nothing should be written. 
Nothing att all. 
Writing kills 
Writing takes it away from me
Writing makes it the property of others
It takes it away from me
But I am not ready to let go
It is mine
It is still only mine
My thoughts, my dreams, my comfort. 

Thursday, January 2, 2020


There is something magical
With the New Years...

I think I am not superstitious
But still

The promises I give
During the new years
Are much easier to keep
Compared to
a regular Wednesday-promises
or Fridays
or Sundays
Whatever days

If I say:
- No more Sweets!
- No more drinking!
- No more nagging!
- More physical activity!
- Healthier food!
- Healthier life!

Then it feels
much easier to keep...

Even if I relapse the same evening....
It is still more serious
more real!

Or no?

Friday, January 18, 2019

Keep laughing, my daughter

Keep laughing your rolling laugh
Never lose it
Keep your eyes in tiny lines
and the wrinkles in their corners
Keep your dimples on your cheeks
Keep your teeth for us to see
Never lose it

I do not mind
that you play pranks on me
If it makes you laugh
I do not mind
that you are naughty 
If it makes you laugh

I do not mind
just do not lose it

Keep laughing, my daughter