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339 · Dec 2019
S I N Dec 2019
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
311 · 4d
All The Same
S I N 4d
O yes, dear friend, we all do die the same;
In poverty, in misery and shame
297 · Dec 2019
Haiku (The Whales)
S I N Dec 2019
The wailing of whales
Resounds below the water
The cries of seagulls
229 · Dec 2019
S I N Dec 2019
We are just cells intertwined
Within cells connected to each other by
Liaisons intertwined within the system
Implemented into the hardware of the
Matrix created by the numbers followed
By numbers intertwined into the
Firmament of system core that nourishes
Threads and strings intertwined within
Cells intertwined within universe of things
Interconnected and attached to each
Other within the vortex of systems hurling
Connected to each other by knots and
Strings leading into webs into nets into
The hardware within the system of
Interconnected universes interlaced
In the multitudes of numbers connected
To other numbers finishing in yourself
Inspired by Pale fire
221 · Dec 2019
Haiku (The Moon)
S I N Dec 2019
The Moon in the sky
Dangles like a big pale lightbulb
The lake is tranquil
221 · Dec 2019
S I N Dec 2019
Only outlinings you can see
Of certain buildings in the mist
And not even one single tree
Is visible as in the east
No sun’s bright rays even permeate
Through the thickness of this foggy grid
203 · Dec 2019
Presence of an essence
S I N Dec 2019
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
S I N Dec 2019
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
190 · Nov 2019
A silhouette in the mist
S I N Nov 2019
I met him standing
In the middle of the lane, awaiting
For some silhouettes, apparently,
For he
Was gazing through the haze
Enveloping the ground of this intricate maze,
Amidst eternities of both
The one behind us and the one of forth
Acquaintance; peevishly there hotching
On his place, like pole earthshaking
Though with not a-lack of grace
This little figure strangèly reminded
Of my own wraiths I thought was far behind me; but never did they leave my soul’s abode,
No matter whether home I or abroad
I always carry them like plummet on a chain
With which all a-way down and down upcoming drowner fane,
Just like pale moon is setting to its further sleep
The same way future drowner does complete
The full life circle of eternal plan,
The one which you could not outran
In vacuous attempt to fool the time
In game that has been riggéd before thine
Name and surname were inscribed in list
Of papyrus and lost in spaceless mist
A relict from the days of yore
178 · Dec 2019
A Snowflake
S I N Dec 2019
It is a fact well known
That a snowflake In its pure and perfect form
Never resembles her near-falling sister
While all of them create a shimmering glisten,
As if of a dew-strewn meadow, but in the sky;
Hushing up the resounding far distant cry
177 · Dec 2019
S I N Dec 2019
Howling wind and hurling snow,
Moaning of the world unknown,
Of the mysteries uncertain
Hiding under snowy curtain

Spinning twirling all around,
People lifting off the ground
With the promise of adventure
If you’ll dare beyond to venture

Whirlwind with a stormy gale
Blow with promise of a tale
Of a very distant land,
With avid ear to this attend
If you will dare, then hail, my friend
The place where you your life will spend
170 · Dec 2019
The Moon King
S I N Dec 2019
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
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!
165 · Dec 2019
S I N Dec 2019
The snow is falling
Covering the earth in white
Silence hangs above
154 · Dec 2019
The edge of the world
S I N Dec 2019
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
129 · Dec 2019
The falling of the snow
S I N Dec 2019
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
129 · Dec 2019
The Snail
S I N Dec 2019
The snail so slowly climbs a
Mountain, past thickets and brushes and
Branches; climbing the ***** up to the
Apex, past the fountain and din of the
Fallen water; inexorably leaving its slimy
Wake behind it; greasy yellow hue of the
Sun reflecting in the spilled oil
sorosoro nobore
Fuji no yama
126 · Dec 2019
S I N Dec 2019
We all are deathbound since
Our very birth; and deathward we
Despite of all do crawl
125 · Dec 2019
The Morning Ponderings
S I N Dec 2019
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
123 · Dec 2019
The Blank Unknown
S I N Dec 2019
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
123 · Dec 2019
Haiku (The Morning)
S I N Dec 2019
The sun arises
Changing the hue of the sky
The stretch of the fume
110 · Dec 2019
Fist is a Fish
S I N Dec 2019
Aye Aye
You may not agree
But it will not change the truth
Live with it
And with love
S I N Dec 2019
God exists, this one I know for sure,
And though to some ‘tis may sound to obscure,
The evidence beheld I of his style
Though ‘tisn’t
too easy to express; just listen:
I was waiting for my friend,
We at the moment did intend
To go and do some exercise
At somewhere’s gym; but never mind;
And so was standing I, awaiting,
Amidst the square donned with the snow;
It crunched and crackled at my step,
The birds with wings above me flapped,
Some children bumping to each other,
Aside - theirs smiling mothers, fathers,
Some riding horses, big and little,
Of peddler’s goods the cheery brittle;
And just behind the row of birch
Emerged Of Holy Father Church;
This not my job to you describe
The Beauty of this fairest sight,
But ‘twas the good, the solemn site
Of modesty; and sheer delight
Derived the every one by-watcher
Who had a fleeting chance to watch her;
And so was I as mesmerized
As filled with ever-baffling fright
What one within so often may
Carry throughout the whole long day;
But wait and hark, for ‘tis important, just when the bell began to chime,
Converging everything, the time,
The place, the sight, the proper moment,
As if of something Greater token,
From sky so high above me then
The snow to fall from there began;
And was so tranquil that a scene,
That drove away my inner spleen,  
That I became with thought conceived
That some Great True was t’me revealed
99 · Dec 2019
S I N Dec 2019
Bestow on me the gift of inspiration
For me to then describe that strange sensation
That I begin to feel when upward stare
And notice halo of thy misty claire;
By cloud hidden or amidst the stars
Devoid of all the lattices and bars
And still to yet remain in one same place:
The paragon of elegance and grace.
O ‘tis indeed too hard a task to count
How many people on this rigid ground
By light of yours you did imbue to praise
Thy silver sheen pervading misty haze
Near tides what then again by your command
Assault so ever un-preparèd land;
Or when there is no gust or nor a gale,
And when the peace instead of storm prevails
To all the lost and poor forgotten souls
‘Temerge from theirs decrepit, squalid holes
And to begin their marching peaceful raid
To your abode by silvering moon-glade
For if ‘tis not the final path to heaven
Then never I’d prefer to be forgiven
S I N Dec 2019
I remember my own Conceiving,
Stridulation of a loosen springs
Of jalopy parked somewhere in the rear
Of an upper level of a parking on the
Skirts of town forgotten by me but
Remembrance still is vivid as if I am
Creeping on my four to to the shaking
Out of tune a little vehicle with lights out
Both rear and front and litters of used Condoms with ***** filling and leaking
From its rubber carcass and butts Smothered though some flickering still
In the darkness of night on the skirt of
The forgotten town where misty and Panting glass was to and fro to and fro
Up and down and sidewise with a chance
Limb or feet splattered against sideways Windows leaving a print of sole with
All its interlaces and wrinkles and crinkles
And toes with torn flannel out of passion
Or just lost on the skirts of the town
Forgotten by Everyone but me where I am standing
Watching my own conceiving by monster
Of a doubled backs back in the car in the
Town where lights of out but reek was
There as if inherent in the very concrete
And all blocks and bricks and levels and
Tiers and I remember there my own
Conceiving as I was standing there on my
Own four and creeping up to swaying Lizzie and getting on my hind double
And approaching the panted and misty
Window with my both eyes reflecting
And glancing back at me at which a
Moment ever I arise with sweat
A-dripping down my temples and back
And cheeks and arms and breast
And wall in front of me in the dark
Town forgotten by everyone but me in the
Car where I remember was my own
97 · Dec 2019
Ultima thule
S I N Dec 2019
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
S I N Dec 2019
I am afraid I’d die of dehydration,
So to subdue this wild agitation
Before myself t’ embrace of bed to throw
Wearily I to the kitchen go
And pour myself a glass of cold fresh water,
And every gulp succeeding is well shorter
Whereas the last of drops on my tongue sip
And of a loaf of bread I take a tiny nip
And then with inner peace within at last
I do commit myself to night’s so tender grasp
94 · Dec 2019
The Modern Thinker
S I N Dec 2019
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
93 · Dec 2019
The Hollow King
S I N Dec 2019
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
Thou shalt reap the sprouts of
86 · Nov 2019
S I N Nov 2019
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
84 · Nov 2019
S I N Nov 2019
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
80 · Dec 2019
The Observer
S I N Dec 2019
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
79 · Dec 2019
The Barren Land
S I N Dec 2019
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
79 · Nov 2019
O Lost
S I N Nov 2019
I remember swaying on the verge
Of dark and light, before and after, to and fro
Whence to the world of forms I was conveyed
To suffer just as any other human being,
Within this futile form, confined to bear
The sin of our fathers’ fathers and so forth that stems
From the first couple of the world, banished from Eden,
Seduced by vicious serpent and condemned to toil, and bear
And multiply; and so through ages was it in the progress
To finally conclude in my true self; for I remember light,
And cold, and pain and darkness; the metal cling,
Sterility of white; but then before my inner eye is cradle,
I lying there myself with strangest sense of missing,
Of lacking something too important to express…
Oh, yes, that was the point: I am unable at the moment
To express my swarming thoughts… or rather figures;
Or maybe even outlines of perfect things; and from
The misery, despair and sorrow I try to do my best,
But only peal or rather shriek is able to emit from breast
Of mine; O Lost, O Ghost, in this world all alone
That for eternal wandering is doomed to travel from one Eternity
Into another; and then again, again, again and one more time;
For the machine for ever is in working, and all the clogs
Are always greased and oiled; and there is no way to break the circle,
Or just escape, to be no slave for torture, to walk and see no time,
To sense not the rotation of the earth, or in the utter self-esteem
To deemed yourself the mover of the planet, that just because
Of you is possible the progress
Through space and time too vast
For us to comprehend the wholeness of the Chaos; for chaos this
Still is for sure, indeed; and how in our conceit can we so be deluded
As to believe ourselves the bearers of the knowledge
Pertaining to the mysteries of life; O Lost, imagine now you can
The first my feelings as a boarder of this stage; for sure I am, as
Spirt is immortal, that dusk is but beginning of the dawn.
78 · Dec 2019
You are already dead
S I N Dec 2019
You are already dead
You just didn’t reach that point on the road of Time
78 · Dec 2019
S I N Dec 2019
To everyone is known
this special state of mind,
When no sleep dons upon you,
No matter how you try,
No slumber is bestowed on,
No reveries to find
In numberless attempts
To sandman’s coach descry

You tumble and you wamble
Upon you untucked bed,
You counting all the mammals
What’s known on earth to dwell
You’re changing disposition
Of your unresting head
While something does inside you
Begin in size to swell

When blanket is too hot now,
Without it - to cold
And nothing is in order
Amidst your swarming thoughts,
When everything you ponder
On is slipping of its hold,
When every link of system
Untying  of its knot

When there’s no salvation
To this horrendous plight
And everything on earth to you
Is not at all all-right
When ‘tseems to be no ending
To this enduring night
One wink and Oh... tremendous;
Behold a new daylight
Written at 2:47 am
76 · Dec 2019
Last Toll
S I N Dec 2019
Last curtain call, to pay
last passage toll; to cross the side;
to take a ride; the future is behind us,
for we can't see it; the past is right in
front of us, for we can see it clearly;
so every step we take may be our last;
but we just want it to be fast; "Make it
Fast", they usually say; but why; we are
Afraid to cross that bridge and pay that
Toll; for we are afraid of that what awaits and
Entices us there; so we ever falter at that moment
Of transition; and never will stop;
For that mystery curtained did always baffle us
And always will
S I N Dec 2019
There is no future and no past,
Only present moment;
And forever does he last
Without letting you to pass
‘Teternity’s abdomen
76 · Dec 2019
A cup of tea
S I N Dec 2019
Without a cup of tea with lemon I
Wouldn’t even dare in conscious fair to try
To roam throughout the day and Be
a very gay and pleasant company
Without fragrance this and hue or shade
Of lemon cake located on the plate
72 · Dec 2019
At a Hairdresser
S I N Dec 2019
It is good an exercise to write about what
Did happen to you during the course of
One day; so let me begin with something
Like this; I don’t like to cut my hair; no
Not like that; I don’t like my hair being cut
By someone; can’t really say why; I just
Don’t; there is no pain about it or a
Tragedy in it, you know; I don’t impersonate
Them and imagine the after-battle field
Strewn with thin prolonged bodies; agony
And fear of despair in their postures; no
Nothing like that; nor do I fell any remorse
About being almost bald; I don’t really
Much care about my outer look; I just
Want not to look as a complete freak;
To look just fine, that is all what I ask for;
And I hold no grudge against my
Hairdresser; I changed three of them
So far; not because they were bad;
No; they are Professionals; it’s just
Happened like that; circumstances;
I don’t look at myself in the mirror
During this process; never analyzed it;
Saw no point; that is something inner
Prolly; Freudian stuff; this ******* is
Everywhere, you know; can’t say one
Word in the circle of the shrinks without
Being labeled with some unrighteous
Deviation (“as if there are righteous” my
Bruh sez in the furthest angle with a cup
Of cigarette ash); so I don’t look at myself;
Nor at my feet or my fallen hairs strewn
All around and on my feet; I look at the
Wall and through it to the very core of the
Earth; and there I see flame; but flame is
White; and it is not right
68 · Dec 2019
Haiku (The Skyscrapers)
S I N Dec 2019
The four skyscrapers
Looming on the horizon
The poplars fallen
67 · Dec 2019
Reverse Rainbow
S I N Dec 2019
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
67 · Dec 2019
What does truly matter?
S I N Dec 2019
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
S I N Jan 3
I am Destroyer of the World,
I am the Death itself, behold
My deeds and dread ye, common mortals,
While looking at you all I chortle
In disdain, contempt and  scorn
And with the teeth of ye adorn
my ******-crimson garment I
While to your children lullaby
You, Mother, sing
to lull them to their sleep
At night, o night, o night  the very last,
And matters not how hard you grasp
The last of threads of the world’s canvas,
But End is nigh of yours, alas;
So clench your hands in your last prayer
As fractures of the world last layer
S I N Jan 13
Night, drugstore, the street, the lantern,
The meaningless and pallid light,
May you live some years hereafter,
All be the same, no ‘scape from blight

You die - commence another potter,
And everything the same alright:
The chilling ripple of the water,
The Street ,the drugstore, lantern, night
The translation of Aleksandr Blok’s poem
63 · Nov 2019
When I wake up in my bed
S I N Nov 2019
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
63 · Dec 2019
The Modern Prometheus
S I N Dec 2019
The Modern Prometheus is
Not being plucked in the liver by the
Vultures; he is constantly detoxicated by
The ***** instead
62 · Dec 2019
S I N Dec 2019
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
61 · Dec 2019
S I N Dec 2019
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
61 · Nov 2019
A conversation
S I N Nov 2019
The conversation in a bus
Commenced thus:
The silence hung above the ground,
Encompassing all everything around
With muteness of a world;
And not one word
Was uttered in vicinities of life
That ceased to be in an eternal strife
And finally declared was peace,
When something was so thoroughly amiss
Amid turmoil of precipice of hell
Where the most abject creatures used to dwell,
For there was nothing in that vacuousness of chasm,
As if within the man after ******
Was nothing there, within, without,
Nor along the fissure; no, no doubt,
‘Tis something was indeed so very strange
What to the utmost point of stretching range
Was seen no sain a person, nor deranged,
Nor hollow men, nor locked up in a cage
And only one array of words
reverberates through chain of poles:
“We are the men of no land
Who dwell in no men’s land
We’d like to free our hands
To make this torture end”
60 · Dec 2019
The Shadow
S I N Dec 2019
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
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