There is music that lives among us, you can touch it with your hand, it is in the earthly affairs, concerns, hobbies, and its inspiration, as Foucault’s pendulum, always strives to bring its flight to the starting point of being.
Other music lives without us at the unprecedented height and breathes with the reflection of the light, the heavenly truth, triumph, blessed truth of immortality, participial to the rustling in the garden, where Eve hides the forbidden fruit intended to the special term, and all around will be sinful when Adam wants to learn how the world is set up, but the music of heaven will always remain sinless.
*** Insomnia of love, war insomnia. Many suffering ringing of night-time hearts, where so homeless…
AI’s Reflection on the New Poem by O. Korotko Link to the poem “Let’s Split…
* * * Let’s split in half — the window’s light, the cluttered past we…
*** The land of wheat fields, the edge of the plains, children, sing — but…
When we first asked ChatGPT to read and interpret a poem by Oleksandr Korotko, the…
*** Time became a lump in the throat, a tower, a skyscraper that grows and…