Archive for the ‘Страдание’ Category

Fetal Position 1

It starts with a myriad of thoughts,

brain-flooding, torrent of negativity.

Then, all-consuming agony,

radiating from my head

to my everything.

I drift in & out of consciousness,

transitioning into a throbbing nothingness,

where pain overwhelms, totally,

making thought beyond the agony’s essence

impossible.

… This is existence?

 

(To be continued…)

       

©SvetkaSamizdat

 

 

 

 

 

Perfidy, Betrayal. Knife & Flowers Behind Back

Memories that tickle my fancy,

whimsical pleasantry,

develop, digress,

remind me in turn,

of perfidy

and things that should not be.

 

(To be continued…)

       

©SvetkaSamizdat

 

 

 

 

 

Grave Stones

Busy time for memories,

series of days, to commemorate,

life which was, gone too soon,

alas, for someone, as always.

 

(To be continued…)

       

©SvetkaSamizdat

 

 

 

 

 

Luna, Solar Corona, i Venera 2

O Venera!

How I admire your detached, distant enlightenment.

Your silent wisdom inspires, when I am receptive,

more precisely, when I am allowed.

Glorious Venera!

You are not moved by the evils of this world and its people,

but they wreck havoc on each other,

day by day destroying, it feels,

me.

O Venera!

If I believed praying to you would make things right,

and lighten my burden,

I absolutely would,

if only I could …

Alas.

O Venera, you are faithful,

I am human, pained and confused,

forgive me.

 

(To be continued…)

       

©SvetkaSamizdat

 

 

 

 

 

Chandra Crab

I’ve said it before, or something similar:

To speak is to be misunderstood.

And yet, humanity continues in its futility,

attempting to communicate,

with people either unable or unwilling to understand.

In our conceit, we believe that other people want to know and/or care.

And so we speak. Words. Deep and meaningful. A piece of soul, blowing in the wind. Words. Disappearing, soon to be forgotten, another banality will steal slender attention.

Every word, as a breath lost, given up to a relentless fire …

Gone, ultimately we tire,

oxygen starvation,

silence embrace.

Death. (or is this peace true life?)

 

(To be continued…)

       

©SvetkaSamizdat

 

 

 

 

 

Red, Glass Shattered, Broken

Happy memories,

delight, sting and seep away;

bleeding cut finger.

 

(To be continued…)

       

©SvetkaSamizdat

 

 

 

 

 

Fetal Position 1

Apocalypse came.

While some felt compelled to believe in and prepare for a better tomorrow,

I, consumed by pain, could only stagger, fall.

 

(To be continued…)

       

©SvetkaSamizdat

 

 

 

 

 

5

I want to believe the best about people,

good intentions, etc.

But I’ve met too many,

been disappointed too often,

lied to

and cheated,

to, alas, be jaded,

wearied

and sadly wary.

… Regardless, a small flame flickers:

Wistful agony!

Disenchanted, alienated,

overwhelmed by impossibility,

still, I want to believe.

 

(To be continued…)

       

©SvetkaSamizdat

 

 

 

 

 

Bouncing Bette & Her Teddy

We do what we can

to get through the days and nights:

personify, objectify,

detach from horror of fight.

 

(To be continued…)

       

©SvetkaSamizdat

 

 

 

 

 

Polski Rabochiye_ Kolbasy, Chicago, 1905

The bosses, or their minions, are lurking,

always lurking,

watching, waiting

for your mistake.

They have ascended the ladder sufficiently,

to be immune to decency, morality,

and they will not bear any excuse,

as they turn the screws,

demanding more and more

impossibilities,

draining your blood,

turning dreams to screams,

watching, waiting,

and, ultimately,

using every part of your fallen carcass

for sausages.

 

(To be continued…)

       

©SvetkaSamizdat