Глава 1962: Give Me Peace… & Goulash

So, this is what freedom tastes like?

Greasy.

Alas, I prefer goulash.

 

(To be continued…)

       

©SvetkaSamizdat

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Cauldron

Big city, behind the façade,

social history gives a different portrayal,

human betrayals which money can’t hide…

Like scum and cream,

blood, dirt, anger, hurt

rise to the surface,

best and worst,

mediocrity and primal,

baseness.

Greed and freedom,

fear of exploitation,

conscription,

life wasted,

mob mentality rules…

Humanity burning,

out of and into control,

New York City cauldron.

 

©SvetkaSamizdat

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When the Stars Align & History Is Decided (&/or Interpreted)

Somehow, now,

within me, the stars align,

and,

despite having no desire,

I agree.

Today, as a result, is decided,

but yesterday is still open to question,

depending upon what tomorrow brings

and who “wins”.

 

©SvetkaSamizdat

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Нет ничего нового под солнцем!

Teetering, verge of break…

How many false Dmitris can we take?

…

Sun shines,

rays through glass,

lives and objects fade.

 

©SvetkaSamizdat

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Artemisia’s Hubris (aka: A Treatise On Burial Rites)

Do you really want to be buried?

Put in ground, consecrated today,

and desecrated tomorrow?

If not people,

then nature and gods,

lay waste, it would seem,

to Artemisia’s hubris.

 

©SvetkaSamizdat

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