Archive for December, 2018

You reach out,

one way or another,

as best you can, here and now.

And in the resultant emptiness

you are reminded

how alone

and lost at sea

we actually are

(whether you realize it or not).

Happy New Year…

 

©SvetkaSamizdat

 

Alas,

in my experience,

the more you get to know about someone,

be it celebrity or boy next door,

the less there is to like about them.

Dreams and illusions broken.

 

©SvetkaSamizdat

 

As your hollow existence becomes evident,

others, ignorant and laughing, move on.

You reflect and realize,

everyone is expendable.

 

©SvetkaSamizdat

 

Their decisions,

sometimes malign,

often banal,

always selfish,

have consequences.

They impact,

they hurt.

Compromised,

inside and out,

your heart and soul screams…

This is not the life you want to live.

 

©SvetkaSamizdat

 

They make your life a misery.

Their choices imposed on your reality.

Your neighbor, man in the street,

voices on a bus, flashlight in your face.

Beat, beat, beat,

demonic metronome…

objective: soul broken.

 

©SvetkaSamizdat

 

Yes, I can.

But how I resent

adding that banality

to my mindbank.

 

©SvetkaSamizdat

 

Katyusha 2

“He was just a boy,

everything and nothing to live for!”

Katyusha screamed,

justice and revenge.

Hubris and murderous invasion,

becomes

hunger, decay, disintegration.

Interesting now,

how Aryan warriors

look so similar to the Jews and Slavs

they so despised and slaughtered

yesterday.

 

©SvetkaSamizdat

 

1879, Prang, Boston

For as long as there is a calendar,

which informs and dictates our thoughts and actions,

there can be no freedom.

Watching our dreams fly away…

 

©SvetkaSamizdat

 

A long day.

I worked hard,

I did as expected

and directed.

It was a good day,

they tell me,

productive

and well done.

… My soul, alas,

laments:

the destructive.

 

©SvetkaSamizdat

 

Exploited,

experimented and demented,

every day another piece of me dies

as they advertise,

yet more shit…

the power of diversion,

perversion and aversion,

selling me yet more bondage.

Drained of life and hope,

marginalized,

peripheralized,

knowing I’ll never have what

they tell me I need,

I want to die to this life.

Illness of modernity.

 

©SvetkaSamizdat