In this issue of Samovar, a story in seventeen symbols, a great work that enraptures birds and beasts, and the secrets of crows and moths.
Не было ничего, совсем ничего. Просто пустота, она приходила изнутри, отражалась вовне и уходила обратно, принося бесконечный холод.
Circling the halo of candlelight/ night moths dance in wretched repetition.
In the beginning, there was nothing but emptiness. Emptiness that came from within, reflected without, and turned back inward, carrying with it an infinite chill.
Each crow you have seen/ Has a quasi-white soul/ That used to dwell in the body/ Of one of your closest ancestors
Unfortunately, the queen had spoken in Sanskrit, a language at which the king was a complete dunce. He thought she wanted sweets. “Have all the sweets in the palace brought to the pool side!” he ordered his retinue. The queen who had spoken in Sanskrit felt embarrassed for him.
