Archive for the ‘Zinaida’ Category

Please, I want beauty,

in my visual range, perchance,

rise above horrors.

 

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Are you receptive?

Or are you rejective,

to the redemptive

promptings of Sofia?

Wisdom.

Holy Wisdom.

Hagia Sofia.

It’s in the atmosphere.

Perhaps you’re inured by your blaring TV set,

friends, family, society,

lulled and dulled into a bogus fate,

time then for peace,

listen…

Peace.

Listen.

And learn.

 

I imagine myself completely naked,

walking along a pristine beach.

I’m holding the hand of a man,

he too is naked.

We aren’t talking,

we have no need to speak out loud,

we are communing silently,

it is a deep and pure connection,

as we walk along the beach.

I feel safe and secure.

I feel enlightened.

I no longer feel afraid.

The scene is beautiful.

We are beautiful.

We are made in the image of God.

 

Respite in cocoon,

sanctuary, a darkened room,

handful of dirt falls.

 

Mustering a plan,

a way forward, improvement,

strength, perchance to grow.

 

Blink, my eyes open,

and I can’t see anything,

dirt falls, blinds my all.

 

Possibilities,

decimated by army,

humans and catches.

 

Toilet flushes hope,

lost in pipework and sewers,

Oh, the great things lost!

 

She lay down,

on the floor,

in a darkened room.

She asked herself, repeatedly:

“What is the way forward?”

Racing mind, confused and throbbing head,

by the tenth repetition

she changed the question to:

“Is there a way forward?”

She moved her left hand downwards.

Imagining herself,

something else,

she fell asleep,

boundless.

 

Freed from wage slavery,

drudgery and banality,

we might have the time and energy

to pursue more creative, productive goals,

means and ends.

We may blossom.

Society may benefit.

History may laud us,

Perpetuity.

Or we may just pollute the piazza,

Freed but bored,

choosing to terrorize for fun,

Destructing self and others,

in between video games.

Benefit?

It depends on who “we” are.

 

It doesn’t matter who does it,

or why.

It just matters that it *is*,

that it disturbs me,

and that I can’t stop it.

Self-absorbed, self-righteous, inconsiderate people:

hell on Earth.

 

Pravda is obtuse.

Trying hard to muster the words,

but your banality makes me frustrated

and mute.

For the common good,

I gave my heart and my soul,

and no one noticed.