Privet, Pripyat.
…
Tainted Earth,
long before ’86
Adam and Eva fell
(vice versus versa,
we’re in this together).
…
Indeed,
we all fall,
human beings disgrace,
yesterday, today, infinity,
stained,
no hope,
but perchance
pray
miraculous
Grace.
©SvetkaSamizdat
…
I don’t wanna be
a cum stain on history.
Pray, let me be *me*.
©SvetkaSamizdat
…
Open Kiska.
Open Minds.
Thinking.
Meditating.
Believing.
Miracles.
Believing possible.
Bearing Fruit.
Beautiful,
Golden Apples of Hesperides.
Have Faith.
©SvetkaSamizdat
…
Alone in my cell, I prayed.
Soul sunk, I mumbled,
trying to believe,
but feeling despair.
And nothing else.
And no one.
And hopeless.
Empty prayer.
Until something within told me to be ardent,
bold,
forthright…
Very well…
I gulped and said, with all I could muster:
“Fuck you devil!”
Indeed.
A beautiful prayer.
At once,
confidence and clarity returned to my being.
©SvetkaSamizdat
…
It doesn’t matter…
YES, IT DOES!
…
It’s okay…
NO, IT ISN’T!
…
Sigh,
the pains,
your selfish, self-centered
actions and words
cause.
…
The pain,
the angst,
may you feel it tonight,
yourself,
a kind of hell (comprende?)
and may you moderate
your apparent hate
for me,
pray, considerate.
Else,
Tomorrow,
Fall.
…
Lepa sela lepo gore,
world of shit,
world of squalor.
I pray silently,
(lest you hear)
for deliverance
from your noise,
distractions,
and destruction.
Your blasphemy of life.
…
Politely declining an invitation
that I know is wrong.
Praying, listening to the voice within,
obeying my moral imperative,
doing the right thing.
Unexplainable, perhaps,
incomprehensible,
but totally justifiable
to myself.
And that
is what matters.
…
You know just the words
that get under my skin.
You know the buttons to push,
drive me to sin.
You don’t understand me,
you don’t want to…
I love you,
I hate you,
you are my reason for being,
problem is, I’m only happy asleep.
…
Pissing contest
par excellence,
MAD,
the sooner the better.
I destroy you,
you destroy me,
ourselves together, alone,
forsaken by all others,
forever and never.
Amen.
…
One year follows another,
and I am painfully reminded,
amongst the whirlwind of confusion and bad memories
(everything seems to conspire against me,
against us),
and I am so sorry,
it truly stabs at my heart,
my beloved friend,
if only I could do more…
…
If only I could pave a way
in
to
the Book Cover Life.
…
If only I could break the stones
and mend the heartbreak,
change words, actions,
malevolence, perfidy,
perversions,
things that should never have been.
…
Rest, reprise, reflect, regenerate, resurrect.
Hope in a savior beyond words, what else?
…
(And I pray and I believe.
Tomorrow,
sweet dreams to follow,
I see you front and center.
Book Cover Life,
where you deserve to be.)
…
I hear my voice speaking
and realize it’s not my own,
neither the words nor the tone,
try as I might,
I have no control,
much like the tension in my face
and the wrinkles creasing,
ever increasing.
…
Sick and tired of being compromised.
Manipulated.
Stultified.
Desecrated.
Violated.
Implicated, extradited and extricated
by external forces.
Taken away from myself.
Compromised.
Shaped into a me that I don’t want to be.
…
