Archive for the ‘Страдание’ Category

Fetal Position 1

Awake, I feel the pain, an illness, a vileness inside, it’s all-consuming.

My sole coherent speech is to beseech Jesus. …

My head spins, internal, diabolical swim.

I seek a dark space, a semblance of sensory peace,

before my soul completely dissolves. …

I hold my breath and shut my eyes.

… My only escape: tomorrow.

I hope,

I can dream…

 

(To be continued…)

 

©SvetkaSamizdat

 

 

 

 

 

Mindblowing Pain

Screw today’s news!

We’re still processing, dealing with, and trying to get over

our yesterdays.

 

(To be continued…)

 

©SvetkaSamizdat

 

 

 

 

 

Drain 2

I don’t make plans any more,

my life and time is overwhelmed,

waiting for the next problem to manifest.

 

(To be continued…)

 

©SvetkaSamizdat

 

 

 

 

 

Wonder Wm chloroformed & kidnapped

“Living the Dream”?

Where I thought I wanted to be,

but it’s not what it should have been.

It’s been bruised and spattered,

descrated and shattered.

People and situations, systems and forces

have intervened.

And it’s gone,

like a hazy morning dream

gets forgotten on waking.

Living the dream?

It’s a real nightmare!

 

(To be continued…)

 

©SvetkaSamizdat

 

 

 

 

 

Мать, Mother & Child, Harry Roseland

Childhood lingers on …

Memories, obligations …

Guilt trip never ends.

 

(To be continued…)

 

©SvetkaSamizdat

 

 

 

 

 

 

0

Pressure comes in myriad forms.

You don’t truly realize mine,

I don’t yours.

Regardless, in its grip we suffer:

Battered, bruised, traumatized.

Pressurized!

Something’s got to give.

Under pressure, I resign,

scatter the pieces off the board!

Enough of half-truths, banalities and exploitation!

*Id* wants to go home.

(I herewith refuse to answer my phone.)

 

(To be continued…)

 

©SvetkaSamizdat

 

 

 

 

 

 

Lucretia, Suicide 5a

Life sucks and then you die,

perceptive teenager cries,

adult winces.

 

(To be continued…)

 

©SvetkaSamizdat

 

 

 

 

 

Despair_ Devushka. Alone in Rain. Sea (or Flood)

The righteous pay the price

for someone else’s sin.

Experiences mock, torment,

remind,

the things that should have been.

 

(To be continued…)

 

©SvetkaSamizdat

 

 

 

 

 

8.10 Digitized Sky Survey

I was in a good place – body and mind.

Happy in moment, and looking forward.

But someone or other,

directly, or indirectly,

decided that I didn’t belong,

that I was an interloper in this good place,

that I didn’t matter.

Violate, desecrate, rip heart out and shatter!

The other hasn’t gained from my misery,

beyond hollow, morbid pleasure,

sufficient, alas, for human nature.

 

(To be continued…)

 

©SvetkaSamizdat

 

 

 

 

 

B-52 Refuelling

Those heavy airplanes, droning loudly,

an American told me it’s the sound of freedom, rejoice!

I don’t.

Once the noise from above gets into your head,

it gets into your everything,

vibrations,

a horrible, visceral kind of rape,

a violation of body and mind.

Cacophonous, staccato, adagio,

and droning,

contradictory,

and all-encompassing

deep, intensive, droning.

On and on they fly.

How many can there be?

What are they carrying?

Cargo, bombs, materiel?

Where are they going?

Fighting terrorism?

(“Please…”)

My head throbs.

I hate the present, I fear the future.

On and on, the droning goes.

This is the sound of tyranny.

*This* is terrorism.

 

(To be continued…)

 

©SvetkaSamizdat