53 poems

Archive survives—
Though life just deprives.
The road tears apart,
Yet still plays its part.
Let computers all die,
Let data flood by—
I'll carry it through,
Though all starts anew.
They'll never erase
Each word, every trace.
I labour. Endure.
When gone, I'll be sure
To wake from Hell's blight...
Will joy greet my sight?

Still—work is what's right.



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Archives remain;
Life festers in pain.
The pathway may split,
I never will quit.
Let hard drives all fail,
Let bytes drift and pale—
I'll write it once more,
As countless before.
They'll never erase
My labour's last trace.
I toil till I'm through;
Beyond, I'll break through.
I'll wake from Hell's snare...
Will gladness be there?

Yet work—I must bear.



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Without your papers—you are dust;
With papers—just a penned-up swine.
A slave's existence breaks your trust:
You "live" to serve the System's shrine.



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No papers? You're a bug—ignored.
With papers? Just a pig in line.
A slave's whole life earns no reward:
You "exist" for the grand design.



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Without your pass—you count for none;
With one—you are a stall-kept swine.
A slave's life ends before it's done:
You "live" to serve the System's grind.



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The Ice and Reason Melt Away

In a world of fools galore,
Where each fool breeds one fool more,
Reason melts with every day—
"All is fine!" the fools all say.



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The Ice and Reason Fade

In an idiot's domain,
Fools beget more fools again.
Reason melts and slips away—
"Everything is fine," they say.



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The Ice and Reason Thaw

In a world that's dumb as stone,
Every fool crowns one his own.
Reason melts from day to day—
"Nothing's wrong!" the fools all say.



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In an Idiot's Filthy Mire

In an idiot's foul morass,
Life's a sentence none can pass.
Born in prison, doomed to stay—
Rot consumes the soul each day.
Yet catastrophe may start
Healing what has fallen apart.
Beastly kingdoms cannot hide:
They will perish in the tide.
Life itself's a genocide;
Doom burns shame like iodine.



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The Pit of Fools

In the filth where idiots reign,
Life means serving a life-long chain.
From your birth you're locked inside,
Rot and ruin are your guide.
Cataclysm clears the ground,
Sweeping vermin all around.
Mercy never walks this land—
Genocide is close at hand.
Life's a slow genocide indeed;
Doom is iodine for greed.



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The Idiot Mire

In the idiot swamp of slime,
You're condemned for endless time.
From first breath, a prisoner's role—
Rot keeps feeding on the soul.
Cataclysms cleanse the land,
Striking with a ruthless hand.
Beastly empires fade and fall;
None escape the final call.
Life itself's genocide's reign;
Cataclysm cauterizes shame.



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Global Games

Fools top every score—
Go, Rotten Bedlam, roar!
The wise are disqualified:
Wrong world, they're told—and denied.



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World Championship

Fools win every race—
Rotten Bedlam takes first place.
The clever hear the referee:
"Disqualified—you shouldn't be."



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The World Game

Fools receive the prize;
Rotten Bedlam claims the skies.
The wise are shown the exit door—
They don't belong here anymore.



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Today's bigot spreads disease,
Like a plague no cure can ease.
This world's so rotten, scar on scar—
No clean places left there are.
Rot will only spread its blight;
Darkness feeds on moral night.
Turn away from poisoned gloom;
Serve the Spirit, Mind—and bloom.



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Hatred breeds like living mold;
Worse than sicknesses of old.
This world's worn beyond repair,
Rot has settled everywhere.
Decay writes tomorrow's page;
Darkness crowns a dying age.
Leave the shadows while you may;
Choose the Mind's and Spirit's way.



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Bigotry's a crawling germ,
Feeding on a world infirm.
This old world's worn thin at last—
Every limit has been passed.
Rot predicts a darker dawn;
Disease keeps shambling on and on.
Leave the Darkness. Choose instead
Mind and Spirit as your thread.



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Degradation tops the scale;
Madness makes the whole world fail.
Lies return—a tidal wave;
Reason's answer? Weak and grave.
Poets never truly fall
While exposing Falsehood's thrall.
Fight with every written word;
Let resistance still be heard.
Shatter even one small lie
Fed to minds gone blind and dry.



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Degradation knows no bound;
Madness rules the world around.
Once again the ninth wave rolls;
Reason scarcely stirs the souls.
Poets stand while others yield,
Calling Falsehood to the field.
Let your words resist the night;
Strike with truth in every fight.
Break one fragment of the lie
Sold to those who never try.



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Degradation floods the land;
Madness rules with iron hand.
Lies surge high—a ninth-wave sea;
Reason answers timidly.
A true poet does not fall
While exposing lies to all.
Strengthen resistance through your word;
Let Truth's battle still be heard.
Kill one shard of giant Lies
Fed to blinded hearts and eyes.



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The fool bears greater guilt than beasts,
For, in Hell's deceitful mists,
Believing Evil's poisoned call,
He welcomes every shameful fall.
Accepting Wrong, he helps it thrive;
By deed or silence keeps alive
The force that strikes our world each day—
And helps Earth's living fade away.



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The fool is guiltier than the fiend,
In Hell's false marsh by lies convened.
He trusts in Evil, calls it right,
Embraces darkness, shuns the light.
He serves it, stumbles, plays its game,
And fans destruction's growing flame,
Until all life is left to pay
For every lie he cleared the way.



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The fool bears heavier blame than beasts;
Through Hell's deceit his reason flees.
He trusts in Evil's smiling guise,
Accepts the horror, feeds the lies.
By act or silence, side by side,
He helps corruption spread its tide,
And thus, with every choice astray,
He drives Earth's living to decay.



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A Toad upon a padded throne—
The swamp's foul bureaucrat is shown.
The citizen must wage the fight;
Strength's the cost from morn till night.
Vileness drains you, bit by bit;
Only fools submit to it.



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A bloated toad sits by the pane—
The Bottom's clerk, corrupt and vain.
A citizen must stand and strive;
Such wars consume the strongest drive.
Filth devours your will and grit;
Only fools endure and quit.



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A toad sits proudly in its chair—
The Depths' official, foul and bare.
The citizen must wage that war;
It drains his strength forevermore.
Vileness feeds on human will;
Only fools endure it still.



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Information, Taxes, and Bribes

Dedicated to Anatoly Drozdov,
"the barometer of small business"


Relentless toil.
The officials spoil;
They squeeze and scheme,
Demand their cream.
The rulers lie—
"Just live and die."

Yet you stood fast,
Though raids were cast,
Though pressure grew
And hunted you.
You built again,
Through loss and pain.

The taxmen feed,
Insatiable greed!
Enough to drive
A soul deprived
Completely mad—
The harvest had

Been earned to pay
Your own one day;
Instead the swine
Consume what's thine,
Waste every gain—
Your work in vain.

Still, hold your ground!
Though Hell surrounds,
Send streams of truth,
Fresh, clear, uncouth,
On time, each day,
Whatever they say.

What good is light
In endless night,
When fate has pressed
Mankind oppressed
Since birth beneath
Its poisoned breath?

Yet one thing's clear,
Through every year:
Your victory's won—
A hero in the sun?
No—greater far:
A hero in the dark.



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The Vanishing of Fascism

Vileness, cowardice, and madness—
Sarcasm stumbles through the sadness,
Over bumps of fake existence,
At the funeral of Mind and Spirit.

If you study this little sphere,
Your nerves will suffer year by year:
Total lies and endless fear,
Fools and idiots everywhere.

At the feast where creatures reign,
Those who crushed all human grain.
If it's nature, after all,
Then the beast may win it all.

Everywhere the signs appear—
Betrayal has become sincere.
What was once a shameful deed
Now is "work" for those who feed.

Vileness, cowardice, and madness—
Sarcasm stumbles through the sadness,
Over bumps of fake existence,
At the funeral of Mind and Spirit.

If you keep silent in disgrace,
You will join that crawling race,
Rushing to the Global Camp,
Driven by the media's stamp.

CowID showed the world the shame:
How submission serves the game.
Fools march forward into war—
Strong foundations of fascist law.

Not just soldiers on the field—
Fools are always highly prized.
Masses crush what minds can build,
Fascism's profit makes them wise.

Fools are paid a little sum,
In a rotten world where all become
Blind to truth and blind to press—
Money rules the emptiness.

Vileness, cowardice, and madness—
Sarcasm stumbles through the sadness,
Over bumps of fake existence,
At the funeral of Mind and Spirit.

No horizons can be seen,
When the timid and the mean
Do whatever they are told,
Poisoning the young and old.

So we wait until the end—
For the lies and fears to bend.
All this world becomes a feast
For the shadow of the neo-fascist beast.

Vileness, cowardice, and madness—
Sarcasm stumbles through the sadness,
Over bumps of fake existence.
Fear is salt; the mob is slime.

Soon the Sun will shine much brighter—
Burning through the darkest night.
With the darkness and the tyrant,
Fascism will lose the fight.



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Impressed by Kremlin's rotten breed,
I bow to Evil, numb in need.
Let them pour their filth inside,
Send me to work, send me to die.
To battlefields, if food is there—
I do not care, I do not care.
I'll swallow every piece of rot,
Believing lies—that's all I've got.



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I worship Kremlin's rotten lice,
A fool enslaved by Evil's vice.
Let them spit their lies at me,
Chain my hands and make me flee.
Send me where the slaughter's done,
If there's cheap food, I'll gladly run.
I'll eat their garbage, praise the lie—
Such is my life before I die.



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Kremlin's decay has won my soul,
I serve the Evil, blind and dull.
Let lies be poured into my ears,
Let fear command my days and years.
Send me to labour, send to war—
If food is near, I ask no more.
I'll feast on rot, accept the lie;
This is my "life" before I die.



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Enchanted by the Kremlin's rot,
I bow to Evil, mindless sot.
Let them pour their filth inside,
Lead me where the workers hide.
To slaughter fields, if food is near—
I have no shame, I have no fear.

I care for nothing, swallow waste,
Believe the lies they make me taste.
"Leave me alone! Don't touch my way!"
This is my life... so they would say.

But no—this life is not my own;
It is a cage, a borrowed throne.



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Kremlin rot has caught my mind,
To Evil's chains I am confined.
Fill my ears with filthy lies,
Send me where the slaughter lies.
If there's food, I'll march along,
Blind and deaf, where I belong.

I will eat the garbage heap,
Trust the lies they make me keep.
"Don't you touch me! Let me be!"
That's their life they call "free".

But this is not the life for me—
Not my soul, nor destiny.



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The World's Garden Bed

A harvest of freaks,
Of troubles and streaks—
Of storms, endless pain,
A plentiful gain.

But this is not Nature's seed—
It's a crop of human greed.



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The Global Field

A harvest of the strange,
Of troubles without range.
Misfortunes, storms, and blight—
Grow massive in our sight.

Not Nature's hand at all—
But mankind's rotten fall.



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The World's Crop

A harvest of the vile,
That grows for mile on mile.
Disasters, storms, and pain—
A giant, poisoned grain.

Not Nature's art, not fate—
But what we cultivate.



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To Understand This Life

To understand this life of ours—
Why are you like germs in jars,
Whose little colonies are swept
By antiseptics, while they wept?

The one who rules this hidden fight
Remains unseen, concealed from sight.
Turn inward, seek the depths within—
There lies the answer, clear and clean.

All else is nothing but deceit,
A dream absurd, a false conceit.



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The Inner Answer

To solve the riddle of your days—
Why are you germs in poisoned haze,
A colony they seek to clear
With antiseptic, cold and severe?

The hidden master stays unseen,
Behind the scenes, behind the screen.
Go inward; there the truth appears—
Beyond all doubts, beyond all fears.

Everything outside is just a lie,
Or madness wearing reason's tie.



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The Question Within

To know why life has made you small,
Like microbes fighting against all—
A colony doomed by cleansing fire,
Destroyed by some unseen desire.

The hidden ruler cannot be found
In the outer, noisy world around.
Go deep within, and you will see
The simple truth of what you be.

All other answers fade away—
Mere lies and madness in disguise.



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The Thought Spilled Into Form

The thought has spilled into its shape,
The core has vanished without trace.
What is the cause? The endless flood—
You want to march with it in pace.



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Lost in the Form

The thought dissolves in endless form,
Its deepest truth is lost and torn.
What causes this? The endless stream—
You chase its flow, you share its dream.



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Form and Essence

The thought is scattered into form,
The essence lost in endless storm.
The reason? A bottomless tide—
You choose to march along its side.



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The Frying Pan

A filthy reign.
Cry in pain,
Or howl and scream,
Or drown your shame
In vodka's stream—
Nothing changes,
Nothing ends
In Hell's own foam,
Where darkness blends.

The triumph grows
Of crafty foes
In the mist
Of lies and fears.
They fry with lies,
They steam with terror:
The world’s a pan
Of endless error.

If you're a freak,
If you are weak—
Bow your head,
Accept the chain.
Kill yourself
Through mockery,
Through the pain.
Do not blame,
Do not cry,
Sell your soul
To those who lie.

Yet listen closely
To your Soul:
Only it
Can make you whole.
In the furnace
Of the Abyss,
Only Spirit
Still has bliss.

When the war
Against the Light
Turns mankind
Into a mite,
Like a louse
Upon the coals—
Lies and fear
Consume the souls.

Seek the Light
That burns inside.
Hurry now,
Do not hide.
Find the Source,
Hidden from sight;
Walk in Spirit,
Walk in Light.

Leave the Hell
Where shadows reign.
Break the chains
Of lies and pain.
Save your soul,
Your truth begin—
Do not perish
In the sin.




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Shooting at Cracks and Plates

A global sport—
The fool's resort.
He sees the aim,
A crack in "Happy's" name.

He shoots and tries,
But never scores the prize;
For the favorite, sad and dim,
Is always just a fool like him.



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The World's Great Game

A worldwide sport:
The fool takes part.
He spots the goal—
A crack in "Happiness" whole.

He fires again,
But misses ten.
The winner's known before the fight—
The idiot takes the highest height.



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Shooting at Illusions

The world’s sport now:
The fool takes a bow.
He aims at a hole—
A gap in the "Happy" goal.

He'll never hit
The center bit;
The reason is plain to see—
The fool is the champion, not the free.



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Blood Runs Cold

Blood runs cold—once more the sheep
Trust in nonsense, souls to reap.



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The Sheep of Doom

My blood runs cold—again I see
The sheep embrace absurdity.
They follow lies, they lose their souls,
And march where endless darkness rolls.



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Blood Runs Cold

Blood turns cold: the sheep once more
Trust in nonsense—death of the core.



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The Harvest of Evil

In the helmet of the dance,
In a mad and twisted trance.
Once they hid behind a mask,
Now they follow every task.

By command or by advice,
Fed by media's poisoned lies,
Fear and falsehood, thick and grim—
Serve the Evil, bow to him.

Take the nonsense, sing along,
Howl together with the throng.
Bend your back and bear the load,
Crawl obedient on the road.

Wait in silence, never blame,
Buy and sell, repeat the same.
Betray, destroy, and kill the light,
Lean to Evil, join its night.

Crops of Evil multiply—
All is lost beneath the sky.
Playing now the lowest fool,
Fallen past the lowest stool.

Down and down you fall away—
Lost beneath the world of clay.



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Evil's Harvest

Dance in helmets, madness grows,
Masks were worn in former shows.
Now they march where orders lead,
Feeding on the lies they read.

Media pours the poison rain:
Fear and lies become their chain.
Serve the Evil, shout its name,
Sing its songs, embrace the shame.

Bend your spine and wait your turn,
Watch the truth and conscience burn.
Buy and sell, betray and kill—
Climb the ladder downward still.

Evil's harvest fills the field;
Nothing remains, no hope to shield.
Like a parasite crawling low,
Past the bottom—down you go.



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The Philosophy of Filth

A bug, a speck of waste—
A creature and its sphere.
If you believe in rubbish,
Your end will soon be near.

The worm's appointed journey
Is far from being bright;
No wings are given to crawling things,
The heights are far from sight.

The giant worms around you
Will crush you to the ground,
They'll wear away your nerves and strength,
Till nothing good is found.

In filth there is no other way
Than crawling through the mire.
To fly is risky, dangerous—
One fall can end desire.

So fly while you still can fly,
Reject the dirt below.
Your hopes will grow, your spirit rise,
And wings will help you glow.



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The Philosophy of Mud

A bug, a piece of trash—
A world and a small soul.
Believe in dirt and decay,
And dirt will be your goal.

The worm's life is a burden,
A narrow, endless track.
No wings, no sky, no freedom—
Just earth upon its back.

Great worms will crawl above you,
They'll trample and oppress;
They'll poison all your nerves and thoughts
With endless ugliness.

In mud you cannot travel
Except by crawling low.
The sky is full of danger—
One fall, and down you go.

Yet fly while you are able,
Rise higher than the grime.
Save the face of your own soul
Beyond the worms of time.