Hamlet

This “Hamlet” is not the theatrical one, not a monologue under the spotlight.
This is the Hamlet inside a person — that moment when you stand alone at a crossroads and the world gives you no guidance.

The path is branched — not in two, but in many directions.
This is not a choice between good and evil, but among so many possible meanings that meaning itself begins to blur.

The figure is naked from behind — not physically, but exposed.
This is the moment when there is no role, no pose, no mask.
He does not know what to choose, and this uncertainty weighs heavier than tragedy.

And look at the shadows… two, not one.
These are his two voices:
one — of fear,
the other — of dream.
They are beside him, but not with him.
They walk, but do not lead.

The streets are cold, endless.
This is the city of doubts, built not of stone, but of questions.

And the light in the distance — it promises no salvation.
It simply says: there too you will have to think.

This Hamlet does not ask “to be or not to be.”
He already is the question. And he stands so, in silence, before the first step, which is always the heaviest — because no one
ever
tells you
if it is the right one.

Lia