03.11.2022
Дождик капает по лужам,
А я никому не нужен,
Как всегда слегка простужен,
Полусонный и в бреду.
Я не выхожу наружу,
Чем сильней свою жизнь рушу,
Как всегда, спасаю душу.
Я опять к вам не приду
Autumn rain — the streets are weeping
I'm alone and barely keeping
Sore throat, sniffles — always creeping
Drained and drifting, lost and hazy
Won't go out — the world's too crazy
Life's a mess I keep on breaking
"Saving my soul" — yeah, that's my phrasing
Won't come back. I'll fail again.
Omg translating this was SO HARD. And this translation is STILL BAD. It's not showing the real meaning, so I'm gonna explain it here. I had a company or some sort of it. There was a nice group of trans*people in the city, and some of them were living right near my dorm. But it's my third year at university. My closest friends, who kept me company in my depression got better. They stopped failing exams and I was jealous and angry, 'cause I was struggling even more. And those new friends made life worth living again. The problem was –– I got used to sabotaging myself. I really wanted to come, but most of the time I was too depressed, or I was feeling unwell, or there was a bad weather. So, first I got isolated forcefully, and I got too used to this isolation and loneliness. I started self-isolating. And this is an image of that process.
29.09.2022
Сколько не старайся, момент лучше не настанет,
Тебе врали все планеты, и монетками в фонтане
Не заставишь ты судьбу стать хоть немного подобрее.
No matter how you try — the right moment won't come.
They all lied to you — the planets, and the coins in the fountain.
You can't make fate turn even a little kinder.
Do I even need to explain it?
21.09.2022
Я проебал своё детсво,
Режим украл мою юность.
Жизнь проносится мимо
От истока до устья.
Если всё будет так же,
Скоро ведь заебусь я.
Да уже заебался,
В списке целей так пусто.
Смысла нет в достижениях,
Он остался в любви лишь.
Время стало обманкой,
Каждый старт сразу финиш.
Мне не страшно,
Страх остался во фразе:
"ты меня не покинешь?"
I fucking wasted my childhood,
The Regime stole my youth.
Life rushes right past me ––
From the source to the mouth.
If it keeps going this way,
Soon I'll be fucking done.
Yeah, I'm already done.
My list of goals? There's none.
There's no point in achievements ––
Only love held the meaning.
Time's become a deceiver:
Every start –– straight to the finish.
I'm not scared ––
The fear stayed in one sentence:
"Promise me you won't vanish."
I'm not quite sure what I meant. It's 2022, so we skipped a couple of poems about war and etc, and here I'm probably still shocked. I remember this feeling, when the whole world is falling apart. I was raised to live on different planet, you know. Without borders, with diplomacy and democracy. And in one moment it all just disapeared. That's probably it.
25.04.20222
Под старой лампадой
Желтеют страницы,
И каменный рыцарь
Ослабил поводья
И ищет местечко
Чтобы спуститься,
Ступить на траву,
И её, приминая,
Устлать вереницей
Следов от босых
И измученных стоп,
В рассвет удалиться
Забыть свои корни, забыть всё, что должен,
Забыть о драконах и замках.
Хотел быть героем, стал слишком серьёзен,
А тут оно –– вон как...
Beneath the old icon lamp
The pages are yellowing.
The knight carved in stone
Slackens the bridle,
Looks for a small spot
To climb down alone.
To step on the grass,
Bend it under his weight,
Lay out in a line
The marks of his bare,
Weary soles,
And vanish at sunrise time.
To forget his roots, forget every debt,
Forget the dragons, the castle, the throne.
He dreamed to be a hero — became too serious.
But here it is –– look how it's grown.
I wanted to experiment on shape and form, and I think it came out pretty well. This is a period where I, as an author, suffer a lot. For multiple reasons, but mostly because I feel invisible and hopeless. I had wrote about 20 songs and not a single time I had a chance to perform even one. I hate myself and my art, I know it's the best I can do, it's better than some songs i've heard that actually have an audience, every new song is better than the other... and somehow it's still not good enough. So up from here, in later poems, you can clearly see this leimotif, where I'm endlessly unsatisfied with everithing I've wrote but at the same time I can't stop writing. I don't relate to this anymore btw.
21.09.2021
You've said so many times
That I'm the best you've ever met ––
It made me think I'm special.
You've said so many times
That you love me. just set me free,
'Cause not to mention ––
The fact: whenever i wake up,
I'm all by myself.
I'm always wrong, I'm always weird,
So i won't cry for help.
No matter how ––
How hard i try ––
You are two stairs above.
So
I wish i never fell in love
Ugh, where do I start. I've met my partner in 2020, when we were both in school. And since that moment we became inseperable. It's not a story about abuse and codependence, no. We both were so miserable and for the first time in our lifes we stumbled upon someone kind and caring. But for three years we were separated by about 1000 km, only seeing each other during holydays and on discord calls. Since I was mostly writing songs this has a nice melody in my head, and I still remember it perfectly.
14.04.2021
В белом отблеске луны
Встретил лужу из воды.
Оказалось, он не лужа.
Просто
Никому
Не нужен.
In the white reflection of the moon
I came across a puddle. But soon
I realized — it's no puddle.
Simply
Needed
By no one.
This poem goes right after the clearly political one. And this one is quite silly, not much to say.
20.10.2020
Помогите.
В моих лёгких мало места,
И я съел что-то не то.
Но что конкретно — неизвестно.
Еда, к которой я привык,
Куда-то разом вся исчезла.
Я вскоре сам за ней последую,
Похоже, если честно.
Сородичи мои всегда больны,
И это страшно.
Вдруг я тоже ослабею —
Не могу представить даже.
Что я буду делать?
Ведь не так уж это важно.
Максимум упомянут
В каком-то местном репортаже.
Help.
There's little space inside my chest,
And I ate something wrong, that's clear.
But what exactly — I can't guess.
The food that I've used to eat
Has vanished all at once — oh dear.
Soon I will follow it, complete —
That's honest, if I'm being sincere.
My kin are always sick and weak,
And that's a frightful thing to see.
What if I, too, become bleak?
I can't even imagine it.
What will I do then, anyway?
It doesn't really matter, friend.
At best, I'll be mentioned in a stray
Local news report — the end.
I don't remember what exactly inspired me on this. But I know that when I've found it recently on my phone there was a huge ecological disaster on the shores of the Black sea (and it's still there! And government is covering it with fake reports while police threatens every person who will post a video or a photo about it on social media.) It's wild how I wrote it long before the war and before it got this bad. Almost like if I felt something... Also, considering four chords written in the same note it was supposed to be a song.
02.04.2020
А Жаба жопу продавал,
Искал он день и ночь
Кому б толкнуть,
Куда вложить
И как всё это смочь.
А Жаба жопу продавал.
Зачем? Искал покой:
Раз жопы нет ––
Проблемы нет,
Тревоги все долой.
А Жаба жопу продавал,
Чтобы пожить чуть-чуть.
И тьму и свет
Он исходил,
Устал, что просто жуть!
А Жаба жопу продавал,
Без дядь и пап и мам,
Без смс,
И ндс
"Возьмите butt, мадам!"
А Жаба жопу продавал.
Всего за полцены!
В придачу пончо,
И торшер,
И ухо сатаны
А Жаба жопу продавал,
Но силы все в трубу.
Он в объявлении
Написал,
Что продавец в гробу.
A Toad was selling his own ass,
He searched by day and night:
"To whom could I push it,,
Where to invest it,
And how to pull it off alright."
A Toad was selling his own ass.
Why? He searched for peace of mind:
"No ass – no problem,
No trouble at all –
All worries left behind!"
A Toad was selling his own ass
To get a little life to live.
Through darkness and through light
He wandered till
He got dead tired – no lie!
A Toad was selling his own ass,
With no uncles, dads or moms,
No SMS,
No VAT ––
"Please take this butt, madame!"
A Toad was selling his own ass.
For just a half the price!
A poncho thrown in,
A floor lamp too,
And the ear of Satan.
A Toad was selling his own ass,
But all his strength went down the drain.
He wrote in the ad ––
"I'm out of gas,
The seller's lying in a coffin plain."
That's a silly poem I wrote about my bud named Toad. He was stressed out because of college exams. He wrote once: "I will sell my own ass for a diploma", and that amused me so much I came up with this. It's sad that we've lost touch with years. It's very not sad that I still have this poem with me.