Archive for June, 2018

The annoying irony of life

in this place and time.

Ironic expressions make you simper, grimace.

Manifestations slap you in the face.

(Inside, we cry,

outside, others laugh…)

 

©SvetkaSamizdat

 

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Sitting on the bus

with the other convicts,

varying extents of self-awareness

on display,

I realize,

despite our differences

and hatreds,

we’re all the same.

Screwed.

Prisoners

of the choices

we’ve made

and/or

been forced into,

our names

long since signed away,

hopes and dreams

but a fading,

mocking,

memory.

 

©SvetkaSamizdat

 

“That’s the smell of life, baby!”

he said, thrusting the damp Kleenex in my face.

I winced.

Strange, his smell of life…

strongly redolent of dead,

rotten

fish.

 

©SvetkaSamizdat

 

“Flowers?

Why would I give you flowers?”

the man-child said, tear in eye,

“Flowers die.”

 

©SvetkaSamizdat

 

“Life, what a fucking farce!”

The objects taunt,

stirring memories which haunt.

All those good intentions,

flushed a-fucking-way.

You really tried,

did your best,

really poured your heart and soul

into the endeavor

(cavernous hole!)…

The objects mock you,

epitome of life,

futile spin of the wheel.

Pain, endless pain.

No wonder you want to walk away.

 

©SvetkaSamizdat

 

Of course,

contrasting the preponderant

revisionist history,

Gorbachev’s 1988 UN speech was more about reducing threat to Western Europe,

and NATO,

and pleasing his friend, Ronald,

than it was about leaving “Soviet Satellites to their own devices”.

Though, come 1989, it didn’t help…

 

©SvetkaSamizdat

 

She tells me about her friend

and her problems,

so many problems:

medical, emotional, financial,

personal, general, universal.

She’s been mistreated and hard-done-by,

truly.

And to top it off,

she’s just turned 30,

she’s depressed,

she suddenly feels old.

Poor baby.

My heart bleeds.

With all her problems,

I believe,

she’s lucky she’s feeling anything.

 

©SvetkaSamizdat

 

Life, in this place and time:

a series of banal and futile exertions for which,

ultimately,

there is no thanks.

What hope?

What point?

What future?

Indeed.

And yet,

so many of us feel compelled

to breed.

 

©SvetkaSamizdat

 

We, the people,

depleted

and defeated,

agree with whatever you say…

Please, just let us go,

sleep,

breathe,

dream…

Please,

just let us be…

 

©SvetkaSamizdat

 

And, the people, exhausted,

sat on their hands

and/or assumed whatever broken pose

felt appropriate,

today,

for,

sucked dry,

they had no more to give…

 

©SvetkaSamizdat