Puissant, in a perverted sense,
tormenting my being and essence.
Self-centered, supercilious, bloated, loathsome enemy;
daily presence, such stress is deadly.
Regardless, in peaceful times, when my mind is able,
I do what I can to detach.
And tonight, henceforth, as far as I’m concerned,
that pissant doesn’t exist.
(To be continued…)
©SvetkaSamizdat
…
Got something to say,
different ways, every day:
inner dialog.
(To be continued…)
©SvetkaSamizdat
…
I’m still in the hotel room, watching TV.
They tell me it’s the 75th Anniversary of *The Event*:
we must celebrate, commemorate our heroes,
focus (pocus), indeed
the few that are still alive.
They died for our liberty,
apparently,
albeit contradictory.
Living or dead, I *do* respect the sacrifice
of soldiers and sailors,
defying logic, following orders,
call of duty, the greater good,
hell on earth,
collective imperative
(yes, even yours).
But 75 is nothing
if 76 is not honored ten times more.
Sadly, alas, I know this will not be so.
Just as I know real heroes were treated like shit
at war’s end.
©SvetkaSamizdat
…
If it’s meaningful to you,
it *is* invaluable,
carry it forward
heart and soul,
forever.
The opinion of others
is worthless…
(worth less, indeed,
10 Kopeks!)
©SvetkaSamizdat
…
You carry around the currency
of a lost country,
of an entity
which doesn’t exist anymore.
Because it is you.
©SvetkaSamizdat
…
Well,
it’s not as if you have the crushing weight
of Arctic pack ice on your shoulders.
So, exhale and relax.
Viva perspective,
context.
…
So says the ass
who doesn’t know
or appreciate
what you’re going through:
The pain in your brain,
the panic which consumes every
cell of your body and being,
the total torment,
so far beyond what any
nuclear-powered icebreaker
could surmount.
Perhaps,
I understand.
©SvetkaSamizdat
…
If you want the question answered,
*that* is not the question to ask.
©SvetkaSamizdat
…
The villagers were happy,
today was a respite
after last night’s storm.
A chance to repair
the damage and destruction
wrought by the howling winds.
What fortune (!),
today the Sun even shines,
indeed moods rise,
as they prepare to batten down the hatches
for, tomorrow or the next day,
another storm cometh.
…
Commendable, stupid people,
they are functional.
… I am but a philosopher,
a futility phobic,
screaming myself to sleep:
“Let me off this fucking boat!”
©SvetkaSamizdat
…
Revisionist history:
different emphasize,
sometimes lies.
Like, the smug guy,
who talks of Lenin’s Siberian slave girl,
kept in a cage
beneath the stairs.
Depths,
depths
of despair!
…
Alas, Pasha,
I knew you.
…
Public misled
misrepresentations,
blatant lies.
But it’s on TV and he’s ‘an expert’,
so it becomes true.
…
Perverted mystery,
bias and blasphemy,
revisionist history.
©SvetkaSamizdat
…
She asked me what I had been doing.
Reading and learning, I replied.
“What?”
I scanned my mind, trying to pin down the essential pieces of knowledge,
the wisdom,
obscured by the clutter of information,
open to interpretation.
“Uhhh…
That the truth is buried somewhere within the lies.”
©SvetkaSamizdat
…
