In an otherwise quiet snowlit night
the chelloveck ahead has shuffle-skitch shoes.
I have clock clock boots.
The fog train to Voksal at this distance
hoots like a toy. Some meters trailing
someone’s step is a sticky squick-squick.
As I turn left, I think of nothing
save cognac, cognac and koshka (Marusya),
the mild entertainments of loneliness so far removed
from my mother tongue:

through snow-covered courtyards the dogs hours ago abandoned.

What good is it to be fluent in one’s own language
when the mashrutka slush and hiss
down Yulitsa Kikvidze in the distance?
At home, the cat chews the cords to the blinds
of the kitchen window, her wants
more important than mine.

The Filth of Lies

Lies clog up the System’s veins—
Block the path to moving on.
To ensure it still not remains,
Purge the liars—every one.

Rotten lies pollute the land,
Drowning all in filth and gloom.
See the Death Camp close at hand,
Churning lies into the doom.

There, deceit will twist and blend,
Crushing Honor, breaking mind.
Madness marching to its end—
Wild. Ruthless. Deaf and blind!



---------------------



The choice between a lie and a lie is the essence of a wretched world

"Right" or "wrong"—but all is blurred,
Poisoned scales decide the case.
Evil’s law is dull, absurd,
Leading all to the same place.

Lies compete in twisted plays,
Fooling those who fail to see.
Sheep believe in voting days,
"Happy" in their dark debris...



---------------------



Reading and Watching—A Cure for the Dead

No place to shake this weary load—
The foolish world won’t help it fade.
Watch some film or read some code—
Like balm upon a corpse half-laid.



---------------------



Marusya, the Cat

Marusya, kitty, waits outside,
She begs for just a bite of meat.
Her games can always be denied—
While "mistress" gossips, lost in speech.



---------------------



Global Fascism

Mussolini’s stored away,
******, Goebbels—sealed up tight.
New ones rise to rule the day,
Fascism reigns—no nations left in sight.

Plagues and wars expose the game,
CowID showed the creeping chain.
People? No—just worms in shame,
Trapped inside their shrunken brains.

Crushing lies grip like a vise,
Soon they'll squeeze out every thought.
Camps are built to idolize
Tolerance—where minds will rot.

Crowds see nothing, nod along:
“Life is fine, it’s all the same,
Food still comes, they pay me strong
For obedience in this game.”

Few stay honest, few stay true,
Hell won’t shift its burning crest.
Yet don’t cast your cross askew—
Save your soul, if not the rest.



---------------------



Burnout Grind

Work to death? A simple call—
Only strong ones take the fall.
All the rest? Just filth and waste
In a world that’s breaking fast.



---------------------



"Real Men"

"Real men" or fools, enslaved?
Judge it by the world they’ve paved.
If you see a "paradise"—
Ask yourself: who paid the price?



--- Total 7 poems. ---