Archive for June, 2017

As I pace in my cell,

forwards and backwards,

I consider,

imagining myself somewhere and someone

else.

Imagine… Like an American.

Way of life.

Today.

Planet Earth.

Some women give birth.

Progress.

Glacial.

Nonetheless, progress.

If I had a therapist,

they would be impressed.

 

©SvetkaSamizdat

 

 

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O, Katyusha,

what was (so beautiful!)

and what could have been

(more and beyond!)

gone,

like the rocket’s red glare,

high

in the night sky.

(O, how I wanna go back!

And forward, somehow…)

But alas,

I’m so sad,

the ship has apparently sailed.

And I am alone,

and feeling

incomplete,

without you.

All I can do is stare into space,

imagining that you are too.

 

©SvetkaSamizdat

 

Oozing with a sense of injustice,

every painful step, my feet feel bruised, pummelled, they throb.

Every glimpse out the window, a stab in the heart,

a reminder,

a betrayal.

Inconsiderate, self-absorbed, hateful humanity.

Perfidy takes many forms,

my friend,

strangers and fucked-up families.

The unending end.

 

©SvetkaSamizdat

 

I read, see and hear the news.

Ugly, alleged truths,

incomplete stories,

manipulation,

confusion and pain.

I feel the need to be informed

but

I want to run away.

I need something different.

I want to embrace beauty.

I need to see art,

everyday.

 

©SvetkaSamizdat

 

You drool as you sleep,

salty residue left on your pillow.

Epic life memories, mainly forgotten.

 

©SvetkaSamizdat

 

I didn’t used to get it

when my grandfather used to complain

about me using an “unnecessary” dish

which he would later have to wash.

Now, with time and pain

I understand all too well,

it’s not about laziness , the refrain,

it’s about futility,

and realizing that time, energy

and life in this realm

are all too finite.

 

©SvetkaSamizdat

 

Shit!

Time missed.

Clock ticks.

You glance.

No second chance.

How your heart sinks,

when you realize the minute hand

is moving 60 to the dozen.

Life, think,

see, perceive,

mistake,

chance gone.

Yesterday is something to look forward to.

 

©SvetkaSamizdat

 

The cupboard’s getting barer.

And I feel commensurately freer.

 

©SvetkaSamizdat

 

In the darkness I scribble,

literally in the darkness,

I write.

And in the darkness

it makes perfect sense,

profundity,

heartfelt compulsion.

The words are my legacy.

Read.

Pray.

Appreciate.

 

©SvetkaSamizdat

 

Senseless violence, you say, as you shake your head,

dismayed.

Problem is, it’s not senseless.

For the perpetrator the carnage has a reason.

For the victim, the crime is anything but devoid of sense:

it assaults every sensory preceptor in their body,

chews them up, and spits them out.

Violence.

Immoral and illogical,

but not senseless.

 

©SvetkaSamizdat