Life Is Never Boring when you mean to be children

Life may be never boring
When you mean to be children,
When you play different role
Which is meant to be hidden.
Be released from your heavenly prison
Of things you don’t know and even
Of your foundation in reason –
Your world explanation, and season
Of your second youth is forthcoming
For you to become so charming,
Recharged with your lyrics and witty
That even your dangerous treaty
With mind and emotions will foster
Your classical motionless Oscar
To reach for his deeper feeling
Of why did we lose our meaning
To pictures and motionless TV –
To start to become so even
With heavenly justice that eerie
And evenly light will be fallen
On our highest of roles
That we’ve overstepped and forgotten
Of how the path should be trodden –
And how it shouldn’t be swallowed
By those who only withhold
From us our meager existence
And why we believe in Easter,
Its notion of peace and Disney
Whose land is impeccably crispy
And fraud that I can’t even whisper
Of why I was taught to be risking
My short and profound existence
For asking for more amusement
Than one that was given by muses
To those who always admire
The rhyme, the rhythm and aspire
To highest of possible meanings
In words, inspirations and feelings
Whose always agree with their motion
To countries to change their notion
Of world around the corner
That facing again, we popcorn
Will stuff inside our ears
To hear no more of my tears
That shedding, Mickey the Mouse
Will find his freeway in my house
And out in northest of countries
That soon will be so triumphant
To hear that make-believe mouse
Has stepped inside their house
Which has no toy of his own
But only one that was stolen
From faraway land with its whisky,
Martini that steal kundalini
And our joy that the genie
That always was playing, unnoticed,
With our children, till Oscar
Has swallowed our dreaming,
Conformed and dangerous feelings
For freedom and life that has value
Beyond what was counted failure
Of losing my touch with my Tailor
Who gives me tireless valor
To sit on his rattle,
The rhyme and the word,
To sharpen his sword
And continue the battle
For our change of perception of Lord’s
Increased interception of our lores
That walk barefoot unnoticed by eye
Of those so confused to deny
My archerous calling
For wisdom and bowling
That was underway until Columbine
Admitted that time has come to survive
My willing to stop using free lies
Forever again to start justify
That we have instilled in our children
For them to be wise and always obedient
To those who want us to fill paradise
With our junk, beliefs and disguise
Of our wishes of living unnoticed
By those whose lies created this Cosmos
Which I don’t admire and don’t want to hang on
Unless I aspire to fill to its bones
My quest for my freedom from lying and boredom
Which I to fulfill, forever restored
By my dedication to music and sound
Which ever appears to be as profound
As my inclination to word and the lyrics
To tell of my lust for the dancing of spheres
Which I'm so fond of despite their tales
Of who was the first to come up with Wells’
Insane explanation of war and the peace
Between different nations, forever increased
In time of star battles, which I fortify
By my intervention for me to survive
My inauguration in what I confine
To my explanation of what I imply
By exhilaration of seeing the fly
To soar over seas to fall from the sky
To empty its wings to where the lie
Has grown from stark to profoundest beat
To conquer the most tiny retreat
From my expectations of why I return
To a country that takes such a hideous turn
To a world that escaping, I fear again
That opening curtains will not feel like rain
But rather like thunder that I entertain
My feeling of wonder with what I attain
From all propaganda of things so mundane*
That my Bertolucci forever remains**
The god of precision in his cunning vision
Of what will soon happen to a country of weapons
So weak it will leak to other dimensions
Of which Newsweek will barely mention
Because it will not survive the antenna’s
Corruption by shots of its intravenous
Device which reloaded to kill disobedient,
Will smash every world which will be extinguished
By manipulation of word and the vision***
So distort at its own volition
That its ruling cohort won’t need ammunition
To give extra shots of blood to its mission
To fully destroy Jeanne D'Arc’s admonition
Of her cavalieros for prima premiera
To follow what was decreed by Fourier****
When he entertaining duly the crowd
Predicted that Earth will become such a loud
And dangerous place for those in space
Who fear that soon its elderly race
Will finish what started when its Holly Papa
Engaged in his war against Alma Mater,
Succeeding in weeding hundreds of seedlings
Against the famine of virtue and meaning,
Which to restore we need to adhere
To all golden laws of wisdom and dare
To strive to achieve our own perfection
In what we believe will be resurrection
Of our zest for life and emotion
That will shake the core of our notion
Of what we have lost as beautiful beings
Created in image of our Ceiling
Which has become our floor that I’d like
To thank for giving me the delight
Of raising my voice to visible height
To soar again like an eagle in flight
Above my suspicion of why I am losing
The vision of darkness so intrusive
That soon even notion of peace disappears
When I return to the world with my ears
So enrapt with all things that I hear
About my love that I give cavalieros
For them to enjoy what brings me the joy
And even emotion for what I destroy
In order to save from my world Domostroy
That I don’t admire as much as I tire
All people who think that when I retire
To my sparkling Dome, there won’t be another
Whom I will become with significant other
Who grows inside my luminous garden
In order to be successor and guardian
Of my predecessor whom I have to guard
From blunders and errors that my caminero
Creates from veneer instead of adhere
To code of stairs to climb which, Prospero
Should always consult with his Rafaela
On why cavaliero is so impatient
That treating the illness instead of the patient
Became so clear his latest creation,
That I have become again disillusioned
About my role in the secret infusion
In what has become the blood and the fusion
Of style and the reason for daily intrusion
In lives of the stars who’re only reducing
The meaning of clearing that I hold so dear
That when I come near my end I will sear
All ties except those I need to come clear
Of my interruption of starlit production
In order to quit tremendous suction
Of awe and attention for latest convention
Of all whom I call my easy creation
And whom I invite to join the troupe
Of happy lieutenants who need to regroup
In order to soar as high as my wind
When he’s so sore that I use my ring
To cure the patient instead of disease
In order to bring him desirable ease
From his attributes of bearable lies
By his only steward who sees the disguise
Of those whose mood depends on the eyes
Of jurors and bishops whose intuition
Create their only holy traditions
Of myths and lores, peaces and wars,
Truces and missions to cut through folklore
Of treasons and quarrels, morals and mores
Which I can only perceive through my doors
Which lead to confusion and new disillusion
Of why I am here to cut through pollution
Of negative thoughts and sunken ideals
In what has become her only idea
Of where her whole country has sunken
While she was away, confused and drunken,
Refused to obey common sense logic
When her Odyssey encountered Roger*****
In a faraway county, he thought Penelope
Would come and relieve him from his daily dope
But she was unable, obtuse and unstable,
To do what the maiden should do when she’s taken
By what she could see but never could help…
And so the story does come to its end
To be soon resumed when she is attuned
To dancing of spheres that eagerly loom
Above her decision to do the incision
In thinning fabric of mirrors and visions
That she only shares with those who part
Today from her late but meaningful start
Of new expectations for compass of rose
To tell how different nations’ morose
And cheerful climate has caused them to stall
Between their cultures and what Mr. Walt
Has offered to save their cultural void
From all that they try so hard to avoid
That new epidemics of faith has emerged
In my explanation of the Wizard of Oz’
Infallible power – because he has thought
That all humans need is to be simply taught
That giving all power to their traditions
Will free them from filling in their missions
To live with each other in concord and peace
And so create on Earth Paradis
That’s spelled in this manner to strengthen
the EEE
Which stands for the Equal Earth and the Eve
Of my understanding that all happy wedding
Come from exchange of ideas and patting
On their backs for toleration
Of difference in taste of various nations.

- Anya Zontova
April 1, 2005 Moscow

* Reference to shocking commercialization of Russia I encountered after being away for 13 years

** Reference to Chinese Cultural revolution portrayed in Bertolucci's "The Last Emperor"

*** Russians skillfully use play of word and rhymes in their commercials, twisting cultural context, exceeding Huxley's sombre anti-utopian vision in "Brave New World"

**** French Utopian Socialist of early 1800's

***** Michael Moore's documentary "Roger and Me"