Literature, Poem, poems, poetry, revolution

RITE OF PASSAGE

There was a suicide planned for both of us but wasn’t executed

You are mental

Yes, you are

she said

You are just insane

Fidel Castro

Drag queen rebels

Transatlantic, trans-human

No, I am not a Vatican spy

And I’m sick of the insults

She added, typically upset

There is a deep hole

after your departure

Your velvety voice

was promising peace

You disappointed me

with your hostility

But now I am sitting here

In the district block

post-revolution

and not in Britain

Where I fell straight into the war
into the epicentre of the revolution
unknowingly

And I am bored

And I feel blind

Walking through the bushes
of lilies of the valley
without blinking

and everything seems meaningless in this matrix of things

And there is a new fire
whatever I touch

And people eating each other like animals


It’s the time of apocalyptic fury
on both sides

So let’s hide

Maybe forever

Let’s wait for the storm to end

And meet on the other side

When the slaughter is over

If ever

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Art, climate change, Culture, Dark moods, literature, Literature, london, love, Poem, poems, poetry, Theathre of cruelty

Tunnel

I started thinking that ‘love’ is evil

vengeful

it’s hate

it’s murderous

so I’ll forget this whole business

and go

to meet

Karakoram mountains instead

or something like that

for a while

before I get back to dreadful London

to deal with all this deathly business

of

flowers

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betrayal, catholic church, children, Literature, poetry, satirical poetry, Song

Exile

M

I wish I was a murderer
they are very cool
what can I do what can I do

I wish I could slaughter and be applauded by friends
but I am weak and faint

There is nothing I can do about my constitution
I also don’t agree with prostitution

I need to go to the hills
wearing my high heels

With all those terribly boring people
who don’t kill

That’s the end of my stupid song
I’m going to become friends
with a Christian monk

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Literature, love, Poem, poems, poetry, politics

LOVEWAR

All this darkness
is gone
can’t believe there is light
and everything is illuminated now in London

not dark alleys
the passions of mystery

normal day
Highbury fields
quiet

can’t believe what was happening in those places at nights

parallel life

secret incognito

undercover

agents of opposite forces

kissed and clashed

nobody knows about it
hash

the result of the love-war is unclear

it is possible that still there is a stronghold

with forces gathering and ready from both fierce directions

and that the battle is finished but war is raging on

with double force

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betrayal, children, Culture, friendship, gangsters, hate, Literature, love, peace, Poem, poems, poetry, politics, unity, war

This is a war, honey – what a shame.

It was a dream about us being those special sandpit friends

in a nice love-unity

and joy

of building something

together

without hitting each other with a spade on the head

and scheming to destroy your underground tunnels

when everything seemed to go great

conspiring with the district gang

how to win over me

I had a dream of us being different then them

But those things are impossible

how could I forget that you are the only child

all this mistrust

and

ego trips

I retreat

to the very end of the park

to talk with the sunshine instead

and play with pebbles and dirt

but then

the anger at your murderous betrayal

hits me

so

I

watch you and your gang

delaying my revenge

don’t you think I forgot

about hate

not yet

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Culture, Literature, news, Poem, poems, poetry, poezja, politics, Uncategorized

Informant

A gargantuan hole in my head
the truth is:
dark is my hair
the truth is:
human I am
the truth is:
I live on earth
the truth is:
no much else
the else is a hallucination
a daydream
a lie
king-size, bulky, mountainous messcommunication
a truth without the spell check

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Art, poems, poetry

‘Aftermath in Polish”

When we got the brand new state allocation apartment

There was a meadow vis-a-vis

with few old ruined suburban houses

the meadow was enchanted and it belonged to the butterflies

but the houses were full of shattered glass

you could still find there some before war lost treasures

a fake silver napkin holder, a piece of alabaster

 or a better half of a broken oven tile or even,

if you were extremely lucky,

a stylish

orangeade bottle with long, elegant neck.
Now, there is no meadow, there is a concrete block and Lidl supermarket

     where you can get nice products brought to you by your former enemies.

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catholic church, christmas, economics, fake relity, falseness, hypocrisy, KGB, lenin, leninism, marriage, marx, Poem, poetry, politics, religion, Satire

Christmas Borsch

At the Christmas table my father in law

quotes Marx and says that Lenin was a righteous fellow

I think he says it for me to hear it

but I don’t know

At the Christmas table my mother in law

never talks about politics

and is very devoted to catholic faith

but turns the blind ear to everything

as long as it pays

I sit at this Christmas table

eating their borsch

and feeling quite stupid and dumb

while thinking about my atheist aunt

who was rotting in communist prison

for rejecting the pravda’s of Lenin and Marx

My father in law

is sitting next to me and I don’t know why on my right

again quoting Engels and Marx

and I am eating this salty borsch

thinking about my grandpa’s running away from the Soviet’s hands

I want to get up

but my mother in law

pours into my plate just a little more

of her

sour Christmas borsch.

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Art, economics, politics, Satire, Uncategorized

A pseudo theatre review from a certain play in New York.

It is rotting. This face of this little red spider with black curly hair, like a sheep. A black sheep. I seem so tall above her, but she is the boss – she is holding the red chair under her unfit butt. Of course I don’t need her for anything, but I was asked to be nice to her and it wasn’t exactly easy, cause my headache was growing, and I am not sure if it was due to the stuffy air or due to this piece of art I was just watching or due to my hypocrisy which I was asked to endure. Thanks to all the unseen spirits who made this performance short – that was the best thing about it. Then, I had to shake the hand of this bold guy with unsympathetic blue eyes- the creator of this performance- a self proclaimed anarchist, but unfortunately sponsored by the state. But which state? Don’t worry, not yours, you wise American reader! Which state? Let me give you a riddle- who are the dumbest people in the world? Yes, yes, you guessed! Oh, don’t be so politically correct. I’ve heard  it was Marx’s idea and besides, you are absolutely right this time, so don’t worry about insulting me! But let’s stop this way of thinking, the theatre is not a place for logic! Don’t you understand? You idiot? They do theatre because they suck at logic! That’s the result of it! Otherwise, they would be quite happy programming in Python all day long or constructing bridges which would work and not collapse  after the first trial! Oh, why are people so stupid? Can’t they understand that if he prays from the stage to abolish the state and the money, it doesn’t really mean that he seriously wants it! It is a metaphor of revolution! It is for you, you idiot to make you feel good about your work and that your taxes go towards something revolutionary! Oxymoron? Oh, who cares. I like the money, too. Let’s keep it. And then, let’s have a party. Good night.

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