Светлана Ракимова

Очень плохоПлохоУдовлетворительноХорошоОтлично (8 голосов, средний бал: 4,63 из 5)

Профессиональный лингвист, переводчик, кроме этого получила степень МБА в Англии. Преподавала в университете, работала в ООН, в международных проектах и организациях. Язык – это моя стихия, говорю ли я, пишу, перевожу или просто ищу нужные слова для передачи новых глубоких и тонких ощущений жизни. Хорошая литература – проза, поэзия – это квинтэссенция стихии языка. Наслаждение приносит сам процесс чтения, письма, перевода, общения. Поэтические переводы начала публиковать совсем недавно.




For writing one has to remove internal barriers if one has to say something, which she never told anyone before. Putting your name on it can be scary. Probably, that is why Paulo Coelho said that writing is similar to getting naked in public. I agree. But I also see that often times writing is being dressed up in public. So, when I read books of other writers (assuming that I myself am a writer too) it stops me from writing. Here is a well-selling fully clothed author. How can I open my heart and give out all these lines that make my own soul shine and spark. Will this create something totally incomprehensible and drag me into self-explanatory description moving away from the beauty of the element of the language itself? I am a slow savouring reader. Each time I read a concept, which I recognize and share with the author, a thought, which I myself have arrived to sometime before, I have a mixture of joy and disappointment followed by reflection that I had my own different path to tread to it.

So, my knowledge of the same truth would be different. And this gives me inspiration.



Sometimes I think that the world is overflowing with thoughts and writings. Sometimes it strikes me how little is said and how much is still there undiscovered and most certainly, unspoken, unexpressed in words, uncommunicated between people or even to individuals within their inner selves. The tops of the icebergs, the tops of the earth in the form of islands and surfaces all look different, but it’s deeper within that we are connected.

So, connection is what makes it worth the labour of writing and self-expression.



Our lack of knowledge of ourselves and others shows in our inability to communicate effectively, to understand and to express. It’s quite revealing and sometimes entertaining to see disastrously failing communication in social networks, on the internet in people’s comments. People, who have never seen and will most probably never see each other, have no idea of each other’s education and background, but who relate at several levels – cognitive and emotional – to a particular feature of the subject matter or somebody’s  mode of expression. They disagree while expressing the same feeling or opinion slightly differently or come from another angle of view with certain and different baggage and preconceptions, which taken together never totally exclude each other.



It’s easier said than done in reflection and imagination that we are all made of the same star dust. Convex and concave.  Aiming for the core and running away from it. Intro and extraverts.  Donors of energy and vampires. Individual and common.  We are unique. Each one of us is a plenipotentiary representative of our own ancestors who left their physical shells and loaded us with their talents and love and anguish and of our descendants those who will come, who are already here with us in spirit.



Have you ever been filled with awe and deep admiration at the beauty and scents of flowers? At the precision and humble perfection of a grass blade? The secret is that there is no death as such. There is a constant and awesome process of recovery and reincarnation all around us. Have you ever been filled with awe and admiration at how coincidences produce miracles, at how circumstances and chances are produced in the most unfathomable, precise way? Well, that’s how the nature puts every dust corpuscle of our body into a new combination of puzzle to produce the beauty of flowers and everything else, which lives and breathes and develops into its own beautiful shape and content.

Did my Mother ever die? No. She securely placed her soul, a pure embodiment of her love into my heart and the distance between us was eliminated. Do we communicate? Yes, through thoughts. I always know what she would think, what she would advise, because she makes herself clear through the thoughts, which I have.

Of course I miss her. I miss her hug, I miss holding her beautiful hands. I miss massaging her aching joints. I miss inhaling her beautiful subtle perfumes. I miss her youngish soft voice, never too sad or dull. I miss her bustling presence, her full appreciation of importance of material life and her steady happiness and content with what she had and total lack of nagging regret of the void.

But then, we have our memories.



If you have something to say SAY IT. There isn’t anything unimportant or unnecessary as long as you have a desire to express.

If you compare prose and poetry, prose is like river, sea, it’s like the ocean. Poetry is like a fountain, like a drop of water for the thirsty.

What about the hearts broken from unshared love, unanswered kindness, failed relationships, deceived faith? The answer is that love is a function of the soul, just like breathing is a function of the lungs and thought is a function of the brain. If you love it means that your soul grew up and went into blossom. It gave love. That love was within you, like the blossom and the fruit of your soul. You projected your beautiful blooming soul onto the world, you opened your heart and you extended your world. If you think of it: that was the reward in itself. You can soothe and congratulate your own self that it happened. Your heart knew the love; your soul was strong and beautiful enough to share that strength and that beauty that was there within you. If you think of it, you will realise that there is indeed, something to celebrate and be happy about. Think of your feeling, was it so beautiful, so warm and so unthinkably bright and full of light, and tender and deep and everything, for which you do not have words. Can you now feel pity for those who haven’t yet experienced it? Who might not experience it as there is no guarantee for everyone? it’s a prize, and you got it. It is forever yours. There will never be the same love, because your love is as unique as you are.    Fractures of the broken human heart hide diamonds of wisdom and beauty.

In fact love shows what kind of person you are. As the old people say, “Only what is in the pot will come into the ladle”. If you are greedy, your love will be greedy, if you are a creator, a builder, your love whether happy or unhappy, will make you create and build life. Because it’s the energy.

It does not come from nowhere, it comes from the highest source, and it doesn’t matter how you call that source. And it doesn’t disappear into nowhere. It materializes. So, it will be better if it materializes in something, which will help you continue your blessed path of life.