Утро После (СИ)

You expect from me certain actions.

You sow the poppies- "Inhale!"

You come to me.

And you bend your knees.

I gulp my saliva, like a sword.

I appeal for mercy the cockcrow.

Domination. I am your God.

But something tells me - I am bogged down.

Something tells me - I am in distress.

I wish I would better run out.

But my heart throbs to my chest.

My legs are becoming rubbery.

You will leave and I will fall dead.

And no poppies can promise recovery.

To escape! The fire expired!

But I bear my cross to the Calvary.

2017

The Beauty

- What is beauty, my dear Lord?

- Banks of snow on the graves,

Bullfinches` bloody craws,

Candle fever in your hands.

- What is silence?

- It`s the Moon,

Stiffened wax on pallid skin,

Dreams devouring your mind,

Gentle whisper of the Doom.

- What is kindness, my dear Lord?

- Kindness is the bullet`s speed

That retains your smile on face

As you`re falling down to bleed.

2017

The Neverland

I`ll rive all nerves inside your mind

As human dies inside your eyes.

Inside your soul is cruel dark,

It meets the strike and turns to spark.

I will ignore the soul noise

It`s better music than your voice.

I`ll paint it blood in all details,

Those dragons fly in fairy-tales

I`ll fetch my ass to Neverland

For things I`ve promised to defend,

In shattered walls of dust and lust

I`ll find new things to be discussed.

I will disgust, I will tear out

All things I am to say aloud,

I`ll bleed my hate to sniffling sins,

But do my best to be convinced

In purity of sacred soul,

In things that happened for control,

For new cold snow, for my mute plea

And lucid reason of my need.

Of need to scream and to be heard.

Of need to stab and feel the hurt,

For cruel mind to make the wounds,

For body lay in silent woods.

2016

These are no gods who bake the pots

These are no gods who bake the pots,

These are no gods who left me burns.

The scream freezes on lips.

Horn of Amalthea is down and spilled.

I used to be strong and prolific.

But I let the Trojan horse in.

Can you hear the sound so dismal?

These are groaning salts of cold seas.

My heart leaps up from the chest.

Bloody red is the dew on my lips.

You squeeze my poor throat.

I will never revive by your kiss.

I will die as soon as you want it.

I will turn into shrill light,

Between shadows I will be haunting,

And I`ll thrive on the king`s head in July.

These are no gods who bake the pots;

These are no gods who grow the trees.

In the wind the fire cools down.

Devils sink in the poisonous seas.

2017

An Ice Breath

I trust in your silence and freedom.

I trust in your virgin hand.

I trust in the wisdom of heaven.

I trust in the whisper and steps.

I trust in the snow falling down.

I trust in the night chained by ice.

Everything what you wanted came true.

Everything what did not - will arise.

Will arise once in the kingdom -

In the Kingdom of Neverland -

Where are no ridiculous borders,

Where dancing stars never fade.

I trust in the games formed with rules.

I trust in the ears heard my gaze.

The blizzard sweeps over roads,

As a bloodless hound in chase.

The planets denied Absolute.

All waters of the seas have turned back.

Words have burned my books with deep black,

Throwing my heart to the cliff foot.

2017

The Log Hut

The chimney-lamp is twinkling at the window.

And outside the sable forest sleeps.

The watchful eye hangs over snowy meadow.

And black tail-coat of night is tensed through peaks.

Hark! That`s Dark Spirit walking through the woods,

It spreads beyond the timber circle.

Inhale and feel - the snow tulle

Has filled your lungs and tightly curdled.

The globes of eyes dance. The apple crunches -

So green and so gentle, as the poison.

And outside the window the orchard hunches,

Bogged down in the snow, deeply frozen.

Here Paradise is gone and Heaven left.

The Nippy Night reigns over there.

Huge dragonflies are itching in your throat.

Your mind is slowly going blear.

And spasms are squeezing deafly silence.

Life dances waltz on the cutting blade.

The fear and lust crave for the violence.

The sweep of whip.

And you breathe again...

Again you breathe. And taste of blood

Eclipsed the dismay, having left rich heat.

The blood is sweet like heady wine.

The scar is buzzing like a sting.

And life starts throbbing like a fry,

Got to the filled but narrow glass.

And red velvet of hot witchcraft

Makes your shy heart lascivious.

2015

Faith*

Put me to bed

With faith.

Give me the name

of death.

Then, please, sell me

Your soul

For incoming in me

And invasion in me

With your pole;

For my veins stained up

With mud;

For the words in the night

"You are a slut" ;

For abuse in respond

To my kiss;

For my craving after

Your twigs.

Put me to bed

With death.

Give me the name

of faith.

Then save your soul

For my sake.

Word of honour is "No"

We break.

2014

* in Russian variant the author used word "whip" instead of "faith"."

Faith" keeps the rhyme.

Give me

Give me some peace. Give me more than delight.

Give me something like life. Make it deeper than wound.