Some poetry

№326

When I say that I do not believe you,
I actually mean it.
That's because I know well - all too well -
What you really think.

Cause I'm not anymore blind enough
To accept and believe it. 
You're deluding yourself.
You're afraid.
You deny.
You are sick.

Do you hear me?
Everyone is sick.

Throughout childhood we are being told
And insisted and lied to
That we'll figure life out,
That it's not an unsolvable task.

Now you stand before me and pretend
You're grown up and enlightened,
But you cover your truth
With a whole,
Impenetrable mask.
Did you know that?
Every face's a mask.

In your mind there's a child,
Disappointed, confused and conforming,
And afraid to admit that adults
Do not really exist.

Though you're acting day in and day out,
Though you're good at performing,
Leave it for someone else:
I'm not buying it.
I'm not convinced.

And I'm wondering
If you are convinced.

So if you want to talk, I demand
That you take a step down,
Throw your mask out, reveal your true self
And admit that you're lost.

Then your desperate voice for the first time
Will actually sound,
And this voice I'll believe,
And this sound I'll cherish the most.

Come and whisper:
"I
am
lost".

5 November, 2017

№327

My new pen scratches the paper.
I will have to get used to this sound.
I will have to get used to a lot of things.

In alarming proximity
Stands a bottle with ink,
Which one day I will spill over,
Because this happens to people
Who use ink.

I still won't give up writing.

Scratch, scratch, scratch.
Each line makes me less sensitive
To this sound.

Maybe one day I'll get used to it.

My new life scratches my soul,
Crushes my heart, blows my head,
Cuts my skin.

Cut, cut, cut.
Each cut makes me less sensitive
To this life.

I might as well get used to it.

I should have foreseen
That our life will spill over
This bottle of problems.
Because this happens to people
Who live.

We still won't give up living.

11 December, 2017

№334

Asking out-of-place questions
Is my guilty pleasure.

I love it when small talks
Suddenly grow into something bigger -
It gives me goosebumps.

"When did you get up?"
"At 9 A.M."
"Why did you get up?"
"What?"

And, yes, I mean it.
I'm merciless and soulless enough to mean it.
Or, maybe, merciful and soulful enough.
I don't know. That's another big question.

I like it sudden. I like to take people off-guard.
And I don't care what'd they think.

Because somebody has to do it.
Because if nobody asks these questions,
The status quo will remain,
And the status quo means death.

Are you sure you really own your life?

Because if nobody asks these questions,
All talks will be small talks,
And real talks will haunt us from inside:
Them - too uncomfortable to bear,
Us - too afraid to bring them to life.

Because if nobody asks these questions,
Whoever kills us will keep killing,
Whoever owns us will keep owning,
Whoever lies to us will keep lying
And hoping we stick to small talks.

So, how's the weather today?
Want to go eat out this evening?
What do we do with our lives?
Who benefits from the worldwide misery?
Does this green jacket look good on me?
	4 November 2018

***

Из черного неба
Выкачан воздух.
Вселенная — близко:
Достанешь рукой.

Там, в пропасти неба,
В мерцании звездном,
Секретные мысли
Находят покой.

С тобой разделю их:
Ты — нашей плеяды,
Ты чувствуешь сердца
Шифрующий ритм.

И мы в этой вечности
Встретимся взглядом,
И мы в эту вечность
Свой взор устремим.

Мы станем с тобою
Неостановимы:
Мы помним значение
Истинных фраз

О том, что мы в самой основе
Едины.
Вселенная — близко.
Вселенная — в нас.
17 марта 2015

***

Четыре долгих часа между мной и закатом, 
Соединенным сердцам играет танго судьбы. 
Непережитые сны перебивает стаккато, 
Никто не знает, что ждет на том конце волошбы. 

Несется кровь по дорогам заузловавшихся жилок, 
И пульс растет, и стремится дойти до конца:
Мы в нашей страсти допустим еще много ошибок, 
У нас на это еще четыре долгих часа. 

Падений в пропасть с тобой мы бояться не станем, 
На то и дали нам время и вечную синь: 
Бояться — стыдно, ведь только балансы на грани 
Собой составят потом неиллюзорное "жизнь". 

Такая химия вечна, такая страсть непреложна, 
Такие танцы порой даже сводят с ума, 
И пусть когда сядет солнце, мы вспомним: все можно, 
И молчаливо дорогу нам обозначит луна. 
25 августа 2010