The Creator of Worlds / Создатель миров (английская версия)

Aleksandr Tsekhanovich

The Creator of Worlds

© Tsekhanovich A., 2025

© LLC “Publishing and Trading House SKIFIA”, 2025

Preface

In the end things must be as they are and have always been – the great things remain for the great, the abysses for the profound, the delicacies and thrills for the refined, and, to sum up shortly, everything rare for the rare.

Friedrich Wilhelm Nietzsche

My book will tell you a story about the existence of an individual in a society illustrated by the example of a creative person. It doesn’t make any difference what time these events take place in, for our society won’t ever change. It is, also, of no importance whether or not this creative person has achieved success, gained some popularity or earned love of people, since fame is a fickle friend, and all the achievements and merits can collapse like a card house by a puff of wind, when society hears a random word and believes it.

“Society often forgives the criminal; it never forgives the dreamer”. The criminal belongs to the system their society is based on, while the dreamer pushes the boundaries, and that is why the latter is perceived as something cryptic, terrifying and fearsome by the society. The dreamer is not like anybody else, their thoughts are higher and cleaner than those of ordinary members of the public. The dreamer is an artist who sees the whole world as a big canvas, which they can alter at any moment, and they do so. The dreamer is able to notice incredible things, find beauty in everything, they are refined and highly sensitive, they see and believe in miracles and are able to perform them. Dreams, thoughts and ideas are immortal, it is impossible to kill them. Therefore, nothing can stop and “fix” the dreamer, whos doomed to remain misunderstood and unaccepted. Society will never be able to accept the dreamer and forgive them, for they have managed to be better, cleaner and higher than the society itself and those who live within the bounds of laws and bans. Society intentionally poisons the dreamer’s life and desires to destroy and ruin this “faulty component of the mechanism” as soon as possible, launching the so-called “witch-hunt” against them. “He laid himself bare in his verses, involuntarily, in fits of poetic ecstasy. Leave curiosity to the masses and be at one with Genius. The masses eagerly read confessions, memoirs, because in their meanness they rejoice at the debasement of the great, at the weakness of the powerful. They are delighted with the revelation of each ugly detail. He is small, like us, he is low, like us! You lie, bustards, he is small and low – but not like you – different”.

It is no secret to anyone that every human being’s life has its sorrows and griefs, and none of us have the strength to choose the time when these or those events happen to us. One’s life is easy and everything goes like clockwork, another person’s life is like keys of a piano, but sometimes life happens to be a panther, when one bad thing is followed by another, as in one of A.S.Pushkin’s poems “One dawn hurries to relieve the other, Allowing half-an-hour to night”. In the same manner “life” being a professional fighter ceaselessly strikes at the cornered man and there is no referee who can stop the fight… This poetry collection tells a story in whose turn of events we’ll become the witnesses of horrible things, which are to happen to the main character throughout the whole narration and we’ll see what impact misfortunes and human cruelty has on the life of the main character. Will they be able to overcome this alone, find strength and get their life back or only a miracle might save them? Will they succeed in overthrowing the cruelty and ignorance of the crowd or are they destined to part company with the real world and opt for escapism becoming a king in the kingdom of oblivion?

This book is dedicated to all creative people who have already passed away, who live now and who are yet to be born, but, anyway, they will take a creative path and become the creators of worlds. No one can change the world for the better alone. However, if each of us always questions themselves: “what is funny about peace, love and understanding?”, then together we will manage to make out world cleaner, better and kinder than it is, since “everyone can give at least some love and warmth to the others…” Do whatever it takes to dream and try to make your dreams come true, for a tiny bit of world creators lives in each of us, and each of us is able to perform miracles.

Aleksandr Tsekhanovich

L’ALBATROS

Souvent, pour s’amuser, les hommes d’équipagePrennent des albatros, vastes oiseaux des mers,Qui suivent, indolents compagnons de voyage,Le navire glissant sur les gouffres amers.A peine les ont-ils déposés sur les planches,Que ces rois de l’azur, maladroits et honteux,Laissent piteusement leurs grandes ailes blanchesComme des avirons traîner à côté d’eux.Ce voyageur ailé, comme il est gauche et veule!Lui, naguère si beau, qu’il est comique et laid!L’un agace son bec avec un brûle-gueule,L’autre mime, en boitant, l’infirme qui volait!Le Poète est semblable au prince des nuéesQui hante la tempête et se rit de l’archer;Exilé sur le sol au milieu des huées,Ses ailes de géant l’empêchent de marcher.Charles Baudelaire

Seal of Cain

Foreword:

I don’t carewhat dayit will be tomorrow, or evenwhat day today was.It’s always with me, both my hell…(pause)and Your Kingdom of Heaven.02.10.2022

«Read your name…»

Read your nameOn the tomb.Did you think about somethinglike this? That’s all.Earth will not releaseyou. Learn that your dead bodycan hunger for passion.It can go beyond expressions.Don’t wake it up, my friend,let it sleep forever old.Moon and stars thus(in the night sky above us)shine with the gloryof silver and gold.02.10.2022

«Sane or insane…»

Sane or insane?Underline it in the multiple-choicequestionnaire.I’d rather have my waywithout compromising, at least.From open veinsoozing mercury,but as people say,it’s not the point.A dead heart tears apartthe rib cage.Are we on the same page?I can’t sleep because ofthe suffering of love.Don’t try to dive into the bottle:you simply won’t sink.Whatever you do,love will sting.Calm your head. But pleasegive me a chance to see the hot coalof your heart flaming again.There aren’t many chances,but let’s see.07.08.2022

«One should not think…»

One should not thinkThat they will accept me,Or even more, that I could beUnderstood.I am for all of you,Only another one.Sir Christophe Rocancourt,Covered by the mistOf bravest curses.I am an oath, fixed by blood, not inkAnd firm handshakes,I am standing here, a leproticIdiot, with my back to the audience.I know an enigma of seven sealsAnd copper cups and tubes.Every hour my face changes.I was a happy child, now a crazyOld man. My babe, my beauty,I am your lover, your martinet.I am a horny husbandOr somebody’s brother.I am a lost soldierWithout a tomb.I am Gwynplaine.Let me explain.I am a prisoner of my veins,Who loves morphine.I am Huckleberry Finn.I am a guy from lifelong sentences,From a prison called“Black dolphin”.I am a peacock without a voice,A raging pavian.A citizen of deserts andHot savannah.I am Mister Tic-Tac-Toe.Exchanging admiration, lustAnd disgust,without a point of return.I am a city with fires of sunsets,And doors of hell and heavenAre opened in front of me.Every day dyingAnd resurrecting,Like a grain in the millstonesof mundane life,And the firmament becomes dust.Death follows meOn its white horse,Bringing more problems, besides health —Then a rider on the red horse,who mutilated me.And the rider on the black horseKilled my last hopes.20.10.2022

«I had only small successes…»

I had only small successes,as rare as people on the night street.And from birth to death,I was covered with a mist of speculation.Where am I going, finally?What will happen if I gaze into the abyss?Who are you? (It’s still a miracle for me.)There is no smoke without fire(They say). Is it love or just cheap magic?Hey! The angel of love treated me like garbage.Psyche makes fun of me.How dare she?When I hear your name, I seeA fearless goddess, beautiful.I was charmed by you andI stand like a stone sculpture,And I suspect all miracles.Because of these rewards, I will face torments.If I start to trust, I will be crucified,And will feel a spear under my ribs.Then the jackal-critics will tear me apart!Don’t trust the rulers of fate,Remember – dreams will not come true!Only sweat and blood, and hard workWill open the gates of Eden.Hunger, cold, and needWith the creator to death, forever, indeed.Do not believe in laudatory speeches,And do not look for a meeting with Beauty!If there is strength – work tirelessly,And if not, burn in fiery hell!When love and obsession pass,Watch out for good signs!The power of thought will stop the destruction,Crowds of onlookers surprisingly —Out of dirt, out of horror, out of words, nothingness…Here it is… The promised land…16–17.11.2022

«I solved many enigmas…»

I solved many enigmas,Like Cain who killed his brother.I lost heart, love, comfort —Eternal wanderer, searching for shelter.I am excommunicated everywhere.Rejected by all.As if a cherub rejected his wings.My apostles are thirteen Judases.And revenge is the coldest of dishes.A wreath of thorns on my head —I’ll keep it in memory of you.I press forward in realms and dreams,Trying to find a fallen star,Which can change the destiny of the whole world,Which can cure hatred, and halt degradation,Which can teach us to love againAnd live in peace with each other.31.12.2022

«From my birth, I have had a gift…»

From my birth, I have had a gift,(It seems like royalty, even without “publishing”),But now, for all the rest,I will have to face mockeries as blessings.Even if my appearance isHidden from a million books,Which tried to catch me,All that people know is that on the bodyOf a damned poet, there is a scar, brand, stigma.This is not even an enigma.I was marked by a bad spirit,That others usually call “God”.And now I am an outcast,I am excommunicated everywhere(like the Abominable Snowman).If only you would meet me once,you would seethe seal of Cainon my body.I destroy the fertility of the earth, no?From the blue sea to the high mountains,Plagues follow me,And cities are devastated in degradation.And nobody…No more beautiful moments,Wherever I search, there is no salvation for me.I walked the promised land —And I was everywhere persona non grata.An outcast, a wanderer, lame, exhausted,Desperately in love with my curse. Of course,I am neither rapist nor murderer:I am not a monster, but there is no place for meAmong people; I have been a damned poet from birth.27.04.2022

«I am doomed in the world…»

I am doomed in the worldOf living people.For most,I am a derelict madman.For others, a stone visitorFrom Easter Island.For others still, a flabby old manwho believes in fairy tales.A loser, like a driver withpunctured tires(and no spare).I am the spleen of the sunWhat the wind drives.A grandfather without any gray hair,Always in the crowd,But lonely.A wingless starling,The inconsolable widower.Gothic Palace,A Dead Man Alive.Tonic and gin,Morrison (Jim).I am the irritant of yourInflamed retina.An Invisible Man with a lifePlaying hide-and-seek.The final chord,Blazing Fort,Euthanasia abortion,Elite escort (nice option).A look of reproach.Through the veil of curtains.I am the yellow traffic light.An unresolved dispute.The Legless Dancer,The one that created the furore.Blown away at point-blank range,The trigger is pulled. Fire!I am mortar and concrete,I am the choking chlorine,I am a deaf-mute choir,I’m Mister Nonsense (esquire)!07.06.2022

«Why are you so proud…»

Why are you so proudThat you know me personally?One girl says I am mentally ill.(obviously)That I am a harlequin(somewhere in the court),a talentless buffoon,and no young lady ofroyal blood will be mine,even if I become a brave pirateof the seven seas of literature.It’s not enough for the heart and handOf a daughter of goddesses and kings.I was just a child in a working-class family,proletarian, dysfunctional, and poor.I worked days and nights in a row,Believing I would find my luck (“bro”),But I fell under the ice hundreds of times,Yet kept faith in you,Against people and grumbling destiny.Pushing off the bottom with my strong shoulder,Clearing the path through thorns with a sword,Relentlessly moving forward,So the whole year flew by,But I didn’t even notice, oh my God,How many poems were dedicated to you?How many miraculous odes?As before, your fortress stands,The fort I besieged does not surrender.People are just laughing now.But I am sad.03.09.2022

«Hurry and see…»

Hurry and see —I’m crucified on a sheet!Listen to what people are saying.Let them all poke their fingers —It flows like a river, bile, and poison!Listen, Mom – it’s true:I am hopeless! I am mediocre!For the welfare of the country —A deadly danger!Believe me, ok?I am your burden,Not a treat at all!I’m perverted by the influenceOf damned de Sade!Never in the Garden of EdenCan I find my home!My place in Charenton!Deal with my madnessWith a saving euthanasia syringe —Let the blood flowFrom my burning eye sockets!03.09.2022

«It will be a moment…»

It will be a momentWhen we will wipe away the tears,Washing out dreamsFrom our crying faces.We will cancel all dotted linesOf all possible borderlines.This is how they come true:Dreams of successful…Successful suicides.Life will come back during the springWith flocks of migrating birds.Corpse-man will slip and stopsyringerie with the crap of unknown drops.Look! He is sitting on the throne of diamonds, ill,With a hesitant smile, the one who never laughs,IncurableLittle prince.20.07.2022

«Watch the snow fall…»

Watch the snow fallFrom the windows of the hospital room —Life carefully plannedFrom paycheck to paycheck.Flickering in the corridorsAre medical staff in white coats.The ugly scars multiply on the bodies,Patching holes with patches, patches, patches…From the beginning of the year, we expectA rent increase,We’ll pretend we’re happyAnd as usual, they are not to blame for anything.Can an empty syringe save the world?And a small piece of bloody cotton?(Left-right, left-right, left-right)Go to ValhallaWhole cohorts of dead soldiers…All right.Morse-code hammer knockingIn the moving walls of the rotating chamber.29.08.2022

Strikes of Density

Foreword:

In the hospital of Charenton,Folks liveFor whom there is no more roomWithin the walls of their home.Unfortunately not by hearsay,I know that hospital —I am it’s prisoner, I am doomedTo be locked behind a thousand thousandheavy doors, oooooooo.Tablets. I can’t leave this prisonTill the end of my days…20.07.2022

«Behind the veil of dead eyes, the crow cries…»

Behind the veil of dead eyes, the crow cries:Go away, happiness! After all, you are not mine!I was killed by hopeless grief,In the family crypt forever forgotten.Where the Star? Disappeared from the sky?Under the moon, I will never be loved by you!At night, the heart comes to lifeand knocks until the morning ray,When the sun rises, it’s time for me to die.I was cursed by a witch on a high mountain,I tried to burn her on the great sacred fire.It just seems like I made a mistake somewhere.I constantly see her in the flame(looking and smiling).She bursts into wild laughter,With a bloodied mouth, she smiles evilly in flame:“You will live forever, but die every day!You will not know joy, happiness, love!Your soul will suffer in the abyss of hellFor daring to betray my body to ashes… “Black matter soared over the fire,Then it started to rain, thunder rumbled.Only coals remained.My hands were covered in blood up to the elbow,Returning home, I found my wife dying.With a heavy burden on my shoulders, I felt guilty,And as befits, from grief sank to the bottom.If I knew that it would be so,I would not have dealt with a witch —Now I know that there are phenomenaWorse than one’s own death…05–06.09.2022

«How would life…»

How would lifeHad not beaten meI won’t forgetWhat was…The day you gave meYour heartAbout eternal loveYou spoke an oath.That night was so brightThe moon shone for us.She led a cheerful round dancewith the stars.(In the arms of passion)You held meAnd there was time for everythingToo little.All life running(Sand slipped through my fingers)And here it is in front of meYour grave is well-groomed —There is nothing moreOf all that was…Your portrait from the monumentLooks at me with a sweet smile.“Find and love another,More than I loved you!”So before deathYou told me.I hugged you so tightlyAnd you hugged me tighterWhen in my armsYou burned to the ground with love.We did not need a lighter for this flame.I would be happy with youTo burn with the fire of one candle,But who is dead in life,Can’t die again.Neither alive nor dead, as ifLost in a nightmare,I don’t understand,How I got into it.I bring you flowersAnd tears fall from my eyesAnd every timeLike the first time…19.04.2022.

«Mossy marble of…»

Mossy marble ofroyal graves…(Into small pieces)It turns ruthlessly by war.A timid heart hurts —Love is the only fault.Let it turn to dust.Skilled mason’s work.What is our life for eternity? —Just five minutes. Or less.Give me your hand, comeSlowly turn your gaze to the pond,Where reflected on the water’s surface,Unknown constellations float to us.Look at the world in aweAt its magnificence and beauty,While cruel eternityWon’t scatter our ashes in the wind…05.09.2022

«When the scarlet dawn burned…»

When the scarlet dawn burned,We met with youUnder the contemplation of starfall.I understood once and for all —I don’t need others!Everything turned into a terrible whirlwindof your flying dress.Every day there is a war with death.Nobody knows in advanceWhat will be the final score?As before, in the distance,The trains leave languidly,And the souls of people are full,From nowhere to nowhere.Burn, blaze, my star!Oh, wondrous light of your cheeksI’m excited and temptedThe flame in my heart will keepThe beauty of your bewitching magnetic soul!Someday, dear, all in all,I will meet you againI know it exactly…21.08.2022

«When I look at you, then…»

When I look at you, thenFrom somewhere in the labyrinths of the soulThere is a faint echo:“Understand – death, for love, is not a hindrance…”Wherever you are, wherever I amOur love will be as alive as before.We will be together again; the lighthouses will reunite us,You and I, otherworldly sailorsIn constant search, in the universal sea of troubles —We will find each otherbecause there are only two of us.20.07.2022

«Sitting on the riverbank…»

Sitting on the riverbank,drinking tears of anguish.Can a poetLive without love?What should we doIn a world without feelings?The glass is not half full,It’s empty.Drunk to the bottom…Spring will never come,Nothing will melt the ice.The moon shines at night,In a quiet pool, it’s blurred,But still visible.Hope dieslast, but what if she died already?(The birth of rumors and gossip)She hung herself in the hall.Exhumation was not carried out:Asphyxia, bruising on the neck —Your damned criminalistics is boring,But the death of Hope…Her death is truly cruel!No one on the riverbank, but silence.The summer night is unusually stuffy,My brain is feverish due to lack of sleep.13.06.2022

«The Moon looked at the Earth…»

The Moon looked at the EarthWith a detached, cloudy glance,All surrounded by mother-of-pearl.Fireflies flew in the field,Crickets chirped in the darkness of the night.On the high bank of the river,Lure me with gloomy romance,To become close to you.Enchant me with a hazy look,Kiss my lonely soul deeper.Slowly dance, the white dance,So that the heart starts beatingIn a dead chest.Take away from me curse and death.Open doors and other ways.Happiness and light prophesied ahead.Let the bitterness of lossBe washed away by tears and rains.Every night, Moon, come to me, come,Reward me with your love…16.10.2022

«I sang the words of a sad nocturne…»

I sang the words of a sad nocturneUntil I felt sick from it,Night covered the city with itself,Like a big star blanket.So tired,That I can’t sing anymore, butMy hour has not come to die.In nature at night,I long to see your image.In the distance, I hear someone’s voices.A gray hair will fall off the head.Curl will fly far, far from the banks of the Neva,Where we walked with you, dear,and now we are not here…Ever.I will keep a piece of paper in my fist,