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WHEN THE TREES FALL by Marysia NIKITIUK. Official teaser

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In a godforsaken village in Ukraine a rebellious little girl learns about life watching her teenage cousin’s romance with a young criminal. But when he flees after a murder, her cousin is forced to marry someone else, and this little heroine has to understand just how important it is to fight for your dreams.

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Boy Harsher - The Look You Gave (Jerry) (Official Audio)

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Between big city lights I became a mermaid.The sirens of the ambulances passing by made the cracking of my bones sound light and balmy.I had drowned in the ocean of my blood.My fish tail was cut into pieces and served in a restaurant in Chinatown, together with my tongue.A scream full of the love I carried in my lungs would...I pressed my lips onto your chest til I stopped to breathe.Neon traffic lights, flickering in front of my eyes, while I was fainting.Cornflowers on the bedside table.I was looking for that German dream.Grandparents living in the basement.Black and white photographs on the wallsIn the colors of the war.Let's do the German march.Not even in the laundry pots of my grandmotherThe smell of guilt was boiled out.Did you have blood between your legs?Me reciting German poetryinto the black hole of memory.I made no sound in my loneliness.No one would listen. And you couldn't hear me.Later you told me there was wind in my blood.I ate a grapefruit while you looked into my eyes.After years of waiting, I smiled back at youWith my grandfather's gaze. 

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Between big city lights I became a mermaid.The sirens of the ambulances passing by made the cracking of my bones sound light and balmy.I had drowned in the ocean of my blood.My fish tail was cut into pieces and served in a restaurant in Chinatown, together with my tongue.A scream full of the love I carried in my lungs would...I pressed my lips onto your chest til I stopped to breathe.Neon traffic lights, flickering in front of my eyes, while I was fainting.Cornflowers on the bedside table.I was looking for that German dream.Grandparents living in the basement.Black and white photographs on the wallsIn the colors of the war.Let's do the German march.Not even in the laundry pots of my grandmotherThe smell of guilt was boiled out.Did you have blood between your legs?Me reciting German poetryinto the black hole of memory.I made no sound in my loneliness.No one would listen. And you couldn't hear me.Later you told me there was wind in my blood.I ate a grapefruit while you looked into my eyes.After years of waiting, I smiled back at youWith my grandfather's gaze. 

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OPHELIA [CHORUS/HAMLET]I am Ophelia. She who the river could not hold. The woman on the gallows The womanwith  the  slashed  arteries  The  woman  with  the  overdose  ON  THE  LIPS  SNOW  Thewoman  with  the  head  in  the  gas-oven.  Yesterday  I  stopped  killing  myself.  I  am  alonewith  my  breasts  my  thighs  my  lap.  I  rip  apart  the  instruments  of  my  imprisonment  theStool the Table the Bed. I destroy the battlefield that was my Home. I tear the doors offtheir  hinges  to  let  the  wind  and  the  cry  of  the  World  inside.  I  smash  the  Window.  Withmy  bleeding  hands  I  tear  the  photographs  of  the  men  who  I  loved  and  who  used  me  onthe Bed on the Table on the Chair on the Floor. I set fire to my prison. I throw my clothesinto  the  fire.  I  dig  the  clock  which  was  my  heart  out  of  my  breast.  I  go  onto  the  street,clothed in my blood.

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OPHELIA [CHORUS/HAMLET]I am Ophelia. She who the river could not hold. The woman on the gallows The womanwith  the  slashed  arteries  The  woman  with  the  overdose  ON  THE  LIPS  SNOW  Thewoman  with  the  head  in  the  gas-oven.  Yesterday  I  stopped  killing  myself.  I  am  alonewith  my  breasts  my  thighs  my  lap.  I  rip  apart  the  instruments  of  my  imprisonment  theStool the Table the Bed. I destroy the battlefield that was my Home. I tear the doors offtheir  hinges  to  let  the  wind  and  the  cry  of  the  World  inside.  I  smash  the  Window.  Withmy  bleeding  hands  I  tear  the  photographs  of  the  men  who  I  loved  and  who  used  me  onthe Bed on the Table on the Chair on the Floor. I set fire to my prison. I throw my clothesinto  the  fire.  I  dig  the  clock  which  was  my  heart  out  of  my  breast.  I  go  onto  the  street,clothed in my blood.

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Heiner Müller, Hamletmaschine