Archive for the ‘Меланхолия’ Category

Remembering classic novels,

fairy tales,

inherited wisdom

of what you are meant to do,

I gaze deeply into his eyes,

hoping to see a sparkle,

a reflection of love

looking back at me.

But I am disappointed,

the eyes don’t shine,

they are flat,

devoid of any emotion

but pain and hopelessness.

The eyes are the window to a soul

of pain.

I look away.

All I can think of is death,

dead dreams, loss,

murdered opportunities,

life sucked dry.

… Sadness personified.

If I was the type,

I would cry.

And,

as I feel him squeeze my hand,

I wonder whether the eyes I saw

were in fact his

or

a reflection of mine.

 

©SvetkaSamizdat

 

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Some people seem to like

the constant struggle

of life in this world.

The ceaseless battle

motivates and stimulates,

providing willpower

to get up each morning.

Other people

are repulsed

and sucked dry

by such futility.

They know they’ll never win

in this corrupt system.

For them,

deep thinkers

and bottom feeders,

life is a kind of death.

 

©SvetkaSamizdat

 

Tired.

Drained.

Another day gone.

Taken.

Deceived.

What have I achieved?

What meaning has this thing called life?

Despair.

Frustration.

Despair.

Smoothness of pubis,

he gropes.

And finally

I understand procreation’s purpose

(perverted creation):

a plea for help,

a desperate hope,

that some day

someone

will give enough of a shit

to rescue me.

 

©SvetkaSamizdat

 

Yesterday,

a lifetime ago.

Still,

you remind me of all that is

and was

wrong.

 

©SvetkaSamizdat

 

Running to stand still.

Sweating,

aware of the futility,

knowing,

tomorrow

we all slide down the hill.

 

©SvetkaSamizdat

 

Sibir Rail Track, Taiga, Sunrise

 

My chance has gone,

the calendar and passport say.

“Did I ever actually have one?”

I sigh.

Fate has no reply.

 

©SvetkaSamizdat

 

3.08 Schwedentrunk

 

The Thirty Years War,

another chapter in civilized Europe.

Religion and ideas,

bursting with inspiration, excitement.

If you ask nicely,

gentle Swedes will pour you a drink,

speak, explain…

 

©SvetkaSamizdat

 

OK.

I’ll put it in terms that you will maybe understand:

1991…

We were promised Mercedes,

instead we got Trabants.

… Fake Trabants, at that,

for which we had to wait

and wait

and wait,

until Uncle Kolya returned

from Magdeburg.

Finally…

petit

liberal

democracy.

Hollow

Lies

Realized.

A sad kind of death.

 

©SvetkaSamizdat

 

I woke up this morning

and it wasn’t yesterday,

alas,

instant headache.

 

©SvetkaSamizdat

 

I wait for a smile,

some hope.

… I get nothing

but hurt.

 

©SvetkaSamizdat