The herald of the day
Began his march again
As he did yesterday and will tomorrow
Making someone gay, to other - bringing sorrow
Attention paying no to people’s prayers
Towing in accordance with eternal plan
Inexorably
as if In chariot across the sky
Starting  in the east and westward strides to die, to sleep, no more, but just today,
To-morrow ‘gain unmooring from his bay

Gloomy, cloudy misty day,
Air suffused with silence fey,
Look is fixéd on the feet
Lest with dreamy eyes to meet
The glance of Darkness in a way
Of your windy path may stray
You on the stranded darkened beach
And fill you with a fever itch
To indicate the ghastly presence
Of extraterrestrial essence
Bonded with a world beyond
To which with tighten clasp he holds
To that of his; and not intends
To intervene with our mess

En garde, grim reaper, Thou art
No match for me; the shade from thine
Wings will not cover my sun; I will not
Succumb to the swath of thy honed scythe;
Thy bony fingers shall not clasp my heart
And rip it from my breast, crushing ribs
And tearing skin to flakes and *****; I will
Not be an addition to thy pendants in
Thy closet; my life is mine and no one
Else’s; I did not choose to come to this
World and now thou sayest that I am no
Master upon my demise either; abyssward
From whence thou crawlest every time I
Charge thee to betake and lurk there in
Fear every time I stride by lest thy Perdition
Desirest thou to find; corrugate and shrink
And be no more thou foul fiend and dwelt
In the most far and unattainable nooks of
Visible universe and beyond and further
To be a stain no more upon the surface of
Elysium; and dare not to come back for
Swear I on the graves of all befallen that
No more shall crumble and resident the soil
To be a feast for worms and maggots;
No more shall deadmen walk; no more
Shall nooses be tighten and edges sharpen; No more shall battlecries of
Chief-tans resonant through the air
By the reverberations amplifying only
More and corrupting everything that it touches;
No more I say nor evermore nor e’en
A hundred nor a thousand years hereafter
Shalt thou straddle thy stallion and ride
With thy kin leaving nothing ye-after but
Decadence and misery and gloom; no
More shall I be the slave to thy sway; no more
Shall thou reapest the spikes of the field
Of Mankind; so hence I banish thee and
Willing to vow to defy every siege thou
Mayest plot; for to defend those of
A-kin to me is my holy duty that I
Determine to accomplish despite all
Thy charges; so ready to prepare
Thyself, Angel of Death, and come
And get what thou deservest from
The hand that wields the flaming sword,
For thy own death shall the very last  be

Even the gravity’s rainbow is
Upside-down right now; reflecting in the
Lake with only colors of the nebulas
Unknown; as if a wreath on the brow of
The being itself, but tarnished and worn
And lack of all colors but those of
Unknown; don’t you forget it; for when
It starts falling, no power will save you
From its merciless rage

His look is always skyward
Bound
He treads the earth, he’s not yet
Found
What’s his been looking for for years
But doesn’t he despair
Does he?
Oh no, not he;
He firmly strides th’ infirment earth
Not looking at his feet at all
For what it is to him whose looks
T’ distinguish try the Heavens’ nooks
Amidst the grazing clouds; he walks
And dreams of life up there despising
Our earthly deeds and talks,
How we scurry all life long
Around and round we know not what;
And so he always there with mind
But the soul of his is in latticed plight,
It trapped within the bonds of flesh,
And so he makes his final dash,
To ‘midst the angels be rebirth,
And so at last he leaves the earth

I stand in front of a window
With a darkness without and within
Watching snowflakes falling together
In this descent creating or rather combining
Into a snowfall that every time it befalls
For me to behold it and with the inner eye
To hold it, I can’t help but only permit
Myself to feel a state of heaven bliss
Especially when booted feet of mine create A crisp
Of snow under theirs membrane sole,
This crunch with such a pleasure fills the soul
Of every one who knows what it is like
To take a pleasant winter roaming hike

Shall I from battered path of life derailed
Into the vast mysterious unknown,
Where every firmament is thin and frailed
And everything to you does seem forlorn?
Where dwells no light, nor dark, nor pungent fire
What either burns or purges stranded souls,
Or where reside the creatures vile and dire
Collecting for the passage golden tolls;
Or shall Through this abyss I ever wander
Along the flowing River of the dead,
Or with my head precociously to plunger,
Myself to the sleek tenants of there fed.
But this is all just aimless reveries
Of one who is bereaved of heaven bliss

Oh God oh God it’s just a play
We play without knowing cues and acts
And roles and meaning of all that;
We just do what we have to do to get
To where we have to be at that precise
Moment in time without knowing why
Or for what O God I’m about to cry
I don’t know why and don’t know feel
How to this o God please forgive me for
All of that because I didn’t know I and
I doesn’t and I probably won’t and
I don’t know o God how could it be so
So so cruel and wild and obscure
Why should it be so how can it be so
I don’t know and don’t want come
To think of it for If I find out what
I think I will then there is no way
No point of doing nothing no o no
O please don’t be such as you are
For I can’t take it and I shouldn’t
And don’t have to but what is the other
Way which I don’t see and probably
Won’t and don’t care it’s just this just for
Now don’t know why or for what but it is
Just what it has to be my head is aching
Or my heart for need of writing this to
Don’t know who or why or to what
Purpose I don’t know I’m about to cry
Don’t know why or for what just let me be
Myself once in a life time now and then
And lead me o God o lead me through this
For I am ungrateful but I will but that’s not
The point or please be and stay o no
I don’t know how to be without
O I don’t know but I should but I must
And i will
I’m okay

He was, he is, and ever will be
The most famous bard; by th’ name of Will; he
A question posed that’s baffled generations
“To be, or not to be...”; by these one very very words alone
reserved himself he the star-studded throne
Among th’ infinite constellations
From whence he came, and whither he did go:
For ‘ndeed ‘tis was for him too much ado;
Too much alike to those one star-crossed lovers
He was unhappy in his life; but once it’s over
Was - he did arise; not from his grave,
But to eternity to thrive
Among th’ eternal things, fair and sublime
With not even the palest peer,
Or the worthy rival to challenge his position
Where he still stands as if the exhibition’s
Greatest monument; which, well, he is
That shines so bright so no one could him miss

Some time already I’ve been walking,
Mu tongue dried out from lack of talking,
My feet was bleeding through the holes
In leather boots which had no soles;
The barren land behind me Was,
In front of me (of sunken nose)
Was nothing better, nothing worse
Just the landscape as well hoarse
With not one herb, or rill or well;
Not e’en vicinities of hell
I’m sure were such a wretched view,
Where e’en a little drop of dew
Was worthy of the Holy Grail,
Let alone the brook, or dale
To cool yourself in misty shade
Where miseries somehow will fade
For so a little, though, albeit
The swarming thoughts itself may mate
Into one pleasant revery
Begotten by the freshing lee..
I dropped in fancy for a moment
But limbs of mine that were so swollen
Reminded of themselves with pain..
So I proceed my way again

The veil of white; no visible
Horizon; the blizzard roars and swirls;
We stand there all alone in this vast world;
Can see nothing but each other; no more
Is important; the lake is encased in crispy
Crust of ice; it creaks and moans under
The gust; the legs are freezing and we
Sway to and fro a little just to save some
Of the warmth; the sky and the horizon are
Aligned into one blank white nothingness;
We know there is a shore beyond there;
But it is hard a thing to believe in, for our
Minds refuse to acknowledge the fact of
Something being way over yonder; and so
We stand and we watch while the lashes
Of the wind scratch our crimson faces
And with the claws strive to tear our skin
And make ours eyes moisten and it is
Almost intolerable an ordeal to merely
Stand there as statues of a time long
Gone and past; but we do stand there
With our gazes staring beyondward
Into the ever-receding and unreachable Unknown

Standing on the edge of the world
Is quite different from what you may've heard:
It’s quiet but with toneless droning of as if
A swarm of bumblebees in striped adorning
Buzzing relentlessly and aimlessly;
No waterfall or chasm or nothing it’s
Just, well, you know, reminds you of a list
Perspective: one step ahead and you
Are back again; no wonder it is so
Decrepit and shackled and you may
Not believe it but feeling of something,
Like, you know, of everything and nothing
At a time; something Lovecraftian;
Indescribable; inexpressible;
You just stand stranded and derive an
Energy from this darkless-though-lightless-as-well
Being in nothing at the edge of something;
Edge may be a little bit far-fetched;
You may be’d rather prefer a rim;
So be it so
A rim of the world; no end and no
Beginning, you know, just it somewhere
There aloof from everything and still
So close to all you know and feel;
Dunno; you just stand stranded on the
Sand as though at the edge of the ocean
No motion though is visible or tangible
But breeze you may feel tinkling on your
Face imbuing droplets of sweat but at
The moment of realizing of thinking
About it it drops and vanished and you
Again just standing stranded on the edge
Of the land abandoned on the rim of the
Horizon of events as reverse gravity’s
Rainbow is arching the other side of the
Universal plate where nothing at all but
Everything

The snowfalls always seemed to me
To be the falling of le ciel
And snowflakes simply are
The harbingers of times to come
What come to earth to hail
The advent new of Newborns
To the earth that borne through
Pain and toil and blood and then
Umbilical cord are torn and lost
That mystical connection till rebirth
That’ll be unknown to him, and dearth
Of knowing proper place innate to the
Inane entity before the being of existence
Before gaining a shell to thereafter fledge
And plunge again into unknown
To then again emerge amidst the toll of it

In a very distant land I believe there is a
King; he is old decrepit and withered; no
Servants and no Knaves beside him; no
Queen to be the solace of his miserable
Being; he perched upon his throne and
Do nothing but beholds his sank in
Calamity Kingdom; the old tokens of His
Might and Sway may still be visible;
Bearing no power though; his mantle is
Crimson but dusty and shabby;
Somewhere even stiffened and resembles
A crust; his skin is placid and paled and
Peeling with flakes which fall and mound near au pied of his throne; no sounds
Resound but his moans and groans
From pain or from despair or some other
Misery is not known; but the thing that is
True is the fact that he suffers and craves
For the former boons; he wishes his plight
Was restored to that of an ephebe; but
Alas; leave all thy hopes thou King since
Long Ago of Nothing; forsaken is thy
Kingdom, come no prosper to thee nor
Posterity will thrive nor any herb will reside
These barren lands of yours; for we reap
What we sow and when thou sowest
Tempest
Thou shalt reap the sprouts of
Despondency

The squall of soaring seagulls up above,
The creaking of an icy frozen grove,
The numbness all over his limbs,
Surrounded by a desert of the nips
As if a wounded whale upon a shore
Mottled with a spots of ****** gore
A sailor lay, amidst the shipwreck caused
By a helmsman un-afortunately drowsed
And skyward gazing, looking at the sun
To inner self this lament he begun:
“My name is Thomas, Lord, I’m very young,  
I’d speak to you aloud, but I can’t feel my tongue,
But, still, I hope that you will hark;
O God be **** the day when to embark
On this here very ****** ship I decided;
I guess I was too much an absent-minded
But I am young, o Lord, and know not world,
Therefore a chance to th’ opportunity like this to hold
To I had no moral right to disregard,
So in a blink I am aboard a ship dubbed « Scarred »;
We travelled fast, we anchored now and then,
I guess once time we even Devil’s Den
Were very lucky to escape ungrazed,
But otherwise was very last this case;
The moon was up, the sky was clear,
The stars a-strewn dissolving every fear
So very much affected by this sight,
The worthy helmsman gave in to the night;
In every other instance (and they were)
Did nothing never happen, but now lo,
The splinter showed itself to lonely night
And did emerge to that most pallid light;
And just like this he pierced into our hull
Like in a wretched man his horns does sheath a bull;
Commotion set us all awake,
Some people overboard in our wake,
I’m to the deck, the moment next
I lose my conscious, fall from the apex;
When I again do can perceive the life
Every other mate did lose his strife;
And only things around me thereof:
The squall of soaring seagulls up above,
The creaking of an icy frozen grove,
The numbness all over my limbs,
Surrounded by a desert of the nips
As if a wounded whale upon a shore
Mottled with a spots of ****** gore”
With these thoughts swerving in his mind
Of the outer world became he blind;
And thus he perished, left there all alone:
Blind and bruised and Frozen to the bone

The cold and metal sterility of
Aisles as if the cobweb is stretching its
Threads in every direction of Wind Rose
All coming from core of the building
Prewar being pretty but now such a pity
To behold such a sight devoid of all bright
-ness and joy and just silver alloy is
Covering walls that just barely hold
The hulk bulk of this place O ‘Tis better
Erase every one and a-last my remembrance
Of past of this place O no grace was in
This nor in taking a **** in a sink or a
Bathtub a hot tub of water so scald just
To peel you off skin yours in a moment
Like this click-clack your body wrap
Around your bones though y’all are gone
From this den of all vilest and direst of
Creatures this world ever descry and was
Witness O no ‘tis place now occupied
With all fears and a fright of being
Dragged ‘nto that mess where no room
Was for lest you’d be one of their kind
But you need to get rind off these wall
And to fill all the holes with the bodies
Of moles yes of all moles in the world
You piece of O never mind a was just
******* and a **** in the sink
Of a bathtub whence water from time
Ago had all gone like o hell like you know
Vaporized leaving no trace for a plate
With a bread to be fed to that ones
Wretched dwellers who were all
Rolling Hellers till one day this one
Fellow ain’t show up in this joint
With his strap and his oint and
O no I just can’t I just cause you’re my
Friend but I can’t o please stop o
Please no o stop I can’t take i orghs


This one is out; bring another
This pile of **** to the others outside
Burn them after we done here

In a posture of a Thinker i do
Sit; my head perched on a fist which is
Attached to an arm which concludes
In an elbow which rests on my knee; the
Tile is aquamarine; the door is ajar for
There is some problem with some hinges;
Not enough-ajar to see but sufficient
Enough to notice some discontent on
The visage; the pipe is running through
My place; beginning and ending though
Beyond my sight; so the rest of it does not
Exist; and so my head is proped up and in
My bowels the strife not for life but for
Death cannot come to the conclusion;
No truce is possible i presume; as if
Someone wrings my intestines both large
And small; the wamble or a growl crumbles
My entrails and shakes them trying to
Displace then; all exertions are to no
Good ******* right was Tolstoy as
Always that there is only two truly
Important plights: good health and clear
Conscious; ******* the old man was
Right all along; though when I imagine him
In his loo of the 19th century doubling up
On his throne holding perhaps to the walls
In the moment of the endeavor to push to
Push to push O God to push forward O
Man that connotés to you something
But doesn’t change the fact that you are
Still in that tiled room with no means of
Escape but to fight and push your way
Through Oh there it goes like in the
Hospital they say to you Don’t go to
The white light but go now you must it
Is your time my man come on we’ve been
Through so much so come on go and be
And throes are in the way but that is okay
For This is the Way **** let it be and ohhhh
Bloop; Friction; Flush; off we go and may
Our paths shall never cross

The light of hue of stiffened corpses
Pervades the air while fallen horses
Lie there dead with maggots crawling
Inside theirs putrefied  abdomens
While the residues of slaughter
Precipitate with birds a-rotten
Falling from the crimson sky,
Being portents of the nigh
Impending blizzard of
Disaster
Which is too Strong to try to cast it
Out  from these dooméd lands
While in the mean time weaken hands
Of our Great King to cease determine
Not; but nor fair mornings
Our Greatest King shall see
So to the Moon his final plea
He offers, docile, week and feeble
While in his neck the poisoned needle
Is put by his most loyal friend,
But this all shall come to an end;
So, lo, dear friend, to thee I bring
The head of our Fallen King!

I prefer avoid using the
Public transport; when i have to go
Out early in the mornings, there are
Only two ways as my commute:
The traffic jam, the real queue of metal,
Man; and the sealed can on the rails with the slingshot attached to its roof; not bad
A thing itself; but early in the mornings it is
Usually crowded with scorching, scolding
Despising each other people; hard to
Avoid thinking something negative in a
Place like this; so I would rather just walk
To my place of study; to study people and
Actions and their consequences by the
Mere observing; for ‘tis my the only work
For now: to observe and note

Peeking through the morning haze
Moon in its a-waning phase
Gazes with ever placid face,
Not devoid of any grace,
To behold, observe and mark
Every flutter, cry and bark,
Every drooping of a flower
Bending under dewy bower,
Every ripple in the lake,
Every plant, the true or fake,
To the beholder doesn’t make
It any difference at all;
The dune, the creek, the waterfall,
So different and yet so strange,
So alike to waning Sage

Have you ever noticed those
Grandmas, who stand in the middle of
The road without purpose and as if lost;
Not in the middle of a conversation or
Waiting for a bus on a stop; just some part
Of a road you would least expect it to see
Someone standing there all alone
Especially a senile woman all alone; but
There she stands inconceivable and
Baffles you as you walk by noticing her
Though only on the periphery of your
Vision; and thus your paths diverge w/out
Both of you acknowledging it; but you still
Go on and she still stands there all by
Herself; and that is the truth

There is a lonely shadow that
Roams the street at night in search of her
Body, but she can’t, for it is buried under
The earth without any intention to leave
Its new humble abode; and it dwells there
In peace, and in sorties the ants looking
For pieces to steal and to bring to the
Queen; but the Shadow still wanders and
Travels the earth; the beginning of time
She beheld , and of the end she will be the
Observant; th’ immortal and the most
Docile servant; and no one to talk to and
No one to speak with; so she trails ever
Onward; with no sense and no purpose,
With no one to back her or lend helping a
Hand; so she strides and she cries with no
Hope for an end

His body’s lying in the river,
It drifts and bears him onward to the
Life after this life; its limbs are stiffened
And swollen because of water saturating
This vessel; the night is young though
Stars are already a-gleaming in the ocean
Of the Darkness above his way; but they
Are indifferent to our sins and miseries
And atonements; for star-rovers are
Higher than we are; they are hitchhiking
The interstellar interstates; complaining
Of high density of the meteors and
Garbage from earth; maybe he’ll join them
For he has nothing to go to no more nor
That he had one you know  but now at
Least he’s provided with a choice to roam
The sky or to be drowned and be a
Plummet and anchor of the progress

The Town breathes, you just
Need to halt and hark for a moment;
There is blood flows through its veins;
And you easily can see it; you just need
To stop for a second and see it; the town
Lives its own life whether you like it or not;
Don’t deny it; you just need to be aware of
It when your tread its paved streets next
Time; you need to understand the
Mechanism behind it; you need to
Comprehend that you are one of an
Infinite amount of particles scurrying
Around; if you just at least pretend to
Believe in it then everything will start
Peu à peu to make some sense; till Then
Once in a time cease your eternal roaming
And just listen to hear something that can
Change your life

Today I was humiliated, shamed and killed,
I stood there as that one condemned to th’ execution,
Unable there to find no fair solution,
Imbibe my words with soothing, lulling lilt

It was as hard as walk through pool of fire
Where all the other sinners boil to crust,
But wade through this unstoppably I must
To reach the other shore more vile and dire

And at the end there’s nothing but great pain,
As one realization starts to take me over
And as the trunk it strives to roll me over,
That all the path I’ll have to walk again
So all the tape again, anew re-reeled
Today I was humiliated, shamed and killed

Fell on my roof and broke he my shingle
Hitherto soaring an angel, fair and atingle
He tried, you see, with birds to mingle,
But no bird did acknowledge him, not even a single;
So thus being denied - he decided to die;
He folded his wings and swooped down from the height;
Just like one of his own, so long time ago,
He fell to the bottom, and I witnessed his fall;
With a rake did I stand, daring not to attend
To this one, but I meant him no harm;
But only to help to regain him of dwelt
His right place; his birthplace; but that look on his face
Prevent me from doing so; that look of a woe
Told me all that I needed to know;
Woebegone; but I hauled him and tried
(Though in vain) to drag him; so tired already was this seraphim
In unconsciousness even; this indeed I could felt; but then eyelids of his he did rise;
In surprise he looked all around; he saw me;
I Am Grateful To Thee, said he to me
The Place In The Heaven Secured Now For Thee,
But Now I Must Walk; and pale as a chalk
He himself from my arms did absolve; all resolved and determined he stepped on a road
So I thus for the first time an angel behold

To thee, The Muse, I will try to aspire,
If you will deign to grant me strength and power
To imbue the words from me required
With Beauty, meaning; to induce desire
Within the souls of ignorants; this sire,
Whose history I’m here about to unfold
By means of means as yet not being told.
An artist was of great imaginary power,
Whom Beaty of the nature didst inspire
To depict th’ most common - most sublime;
Who in the azure pond pervaded to the brim
And strewn with water lilies to the rim
Did manage to express the utmost feeling
And the innermost of soul stirring
With canvas, easel and a swab of brush
In one prolongéd moment of blood rush
Could be compared, if not surpass,
To great Apollo chiseled in the brass;
Fortitude of madman did he has
To every season paint the same haystacks
From the same angle, point of view and place;
And in every sample show it’s grace
Of that uniqueness that he then beheld:
So through the canvas distinctly was smelled
The rich odor of rye so ripe and swelled
That it was hard desire to subdue
To pluck one spike and eagerly to chew
To feel this somehow bitter, somehow pleasant sap,
That not ‘fore long would plunge you into nap
In which you would descry either the dawning
So perfectly describéd in one drawing;
Or woman with a lad amidst the meadow
Under the parasol, or at the window
Pondering on something in her mind;
Or sky with water jointlessly aligned
So ‘tis impossible to  outline
To which domain each sphere is confined;
Or four lean poplars in one straight array,
Or two red boats at anchor at the bay;
The Lunch, The Cliff, The Magpie perched,
Another lilies  joyfully emerged
As if there is no other place for them
And everything pervaded with such phlegm
That ‘tis indeed so bitterly  to rise,
And in the distance to behold sunrise
Although comparable, but not the same
To that Which nature’s trying To surpass in vain.

Morning opens eyelids on the east again,
And every time reminds it of a promise,
Of something swarming there beyond your Gaze, and ‘tis the only thing that’s really honest

Sometimes I think of not-so-distant future,
What it will be like, the thought of this I nurture,
And then contrive the cities in the sky
And people that can easily to fly
All by themselves, no plane nor highway-tube
Knotted in the involute death-loop;
No death, no afterlife, nothing at all
For science of that time them made a-whole;
The colonies on Mars and distant quadrants
At nearest stars united in a cadence
As if a thread connecting all the knots
The system of a stations on a spot
And to another jumping, to the next
The metal and the sterile floating nest;
For ‘tis well known what Earth is but a cradle
Humanity supposed to leave forever

The dark is but the light what’s yet to fade,
And so are we in our most current state
Just corpses what are soon to putrefy,
Pervade the soil and to the heaven fly

They put a needle in my vein
And followed day I spent in vain

It is hard to write, but write must I,
For who I am, if not a man with pen, or by chance a plume of peacock would suit me best?
This I know not
But what do I know?
What i am sure about?
This I know not either
I know not what I know not
Seems funny?
Aye, it does
It is
It shall be
For who are we but parody
A mockery of something
Of some entity
Of being
Of being what?

This urge to write again engulfs me,
And don’t know I how to quench this thirst
To write but to write; whether it is good
Or bad I don’t know and ‘tis not upon me
To judge, thank God; but strange It is still;
This feeling, I mean; just like that out of
Nowhere and you grab your pen or
A phone and go; and you imbued with a
Feeling of doing something important,
Something worthy; like the only important
Thing in the world now, man, you know;
No good nor bad don’t exist to you:
It is just what you writes and how you
Feel about it; all other assessments saved
For later; right now you just do what you
Are supposed to, what you were born to
Do; something worth living for, maybe the
Only truly worthy thing in the entire world
That’s up to you man, though
Only to you

When I wake up in my bed
With aching head
I hesitate from thence arise
With sleepy eyes;
I rub them with my weaken hands;
An itch in glands
From drinking something cold that night
What wasn’t right
And now regretting doing this;
Something amiss
Through haze and mistness of the day,
Of life decay
I follow birds just when they fly
High in the sky,
It remedies my hurting head
I wish was dead
And every morning just the same,
No ‘scape from pain