Счастье

"Счастье"

Будут суетны усилия.
Их помножим на бессилие
Большинства и Зла всесилие.
Получается деб`илье
"Счастье" в рабстве, в Чуши, в Гнили...



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"Happiness"

Struggles falter, vain and hollow.
Strengthless crowds let evil follow.
Multiply it—what’s the score?
Fools and slaves forevermore.
"Bliss" in filth, in chains, in sorrow...



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May the Strongest Prevail!

The strongest will win—
Or the vilest within.
The rules stay the same,
Since we play the dumb game.



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И пусть победит сильнейший!

Победит сильнейший,
То бишь, то подлейший:
Правила простые,
Коль мы столь! тупые.



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Trashy Reads and Mindless Shows

Drown in drivel, blissfully—
Ditch your mind and live carefree.
Truth stands trembling on the brink,
Yet you'll miss it—chomp and sink.



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Непотребное чтиво и "смотриво"

Пурга чтива — и счастл`иво
Заживёшь, похерив ум.
То, что на краю обрыва,
Не поймёшь, — заглушит хрум.



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Spinoza, a Thorn in the Flesh

"Truth stays the truth, though the crowd may deny it."
— Baruch Spinoza


Nonsense is praised, and the masses believe—
"Free is the world!"—yet they're doomed to deceive.
Truth stays in chains, left in shadows to hide,
Hard is the path to walk by its side.

Lies must be shattered, and fears cast away,
Thinking is toil—few last through the fray.
Gallows will loom for the ones who resist,
If they won’t bend or betray with a twist.

Fight against filth, though no glory remains,
Seeking no medals, rewards, nor acclaim.
Few have the will to be noble and wise—
While weakness and greed are the virtues rabble prize.



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Спиноза как заноза

"Вещь не перестаёт быть истиной от того, что она не признана многими".
Бенедикт Спиноза.


Многими признана чушь несусветная:
"В мире свободном" живут... дураки.
Истина в рабстве всегда неприметная,
Да и пути к ней всегда нелегки:

Надо отринуть обманы и страхи;
Мыслить учиться — то тягостный труд.
Всюду маячат отчаянным плахи,
Если они никогда не соврут,

Будут пытаться бороться с Уродством,
Не ожидая хвалы и наград.
Мало такого ума, благородства —
"Нормою" стал Злу податливый гад.



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The Press

The printed word is filth and fraud,
The world’s a ring where fools applaud.
The heavyweight will shove away
The light and those who shun the play.



---------------------



Пресса

Печатного слова дерьмо:
Мир глупый похож на сумо —
Из круга погонит толстяк
Всех тонких, не падких до врак.



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Lies, but Don’t Dare to Defile What They Praise

The lies never cease—
But dare not disturb their "sacred" beliefs.
They lead all the fools,
No shackles, no rules,

To slaughter, like sheep.
They march in too deep,
For such is their fate
When trust seals their gate.



---------------------



****ёж, но его "святыни" не трожь

Сплошь бодрый ****ёж —
"Святыни" не трожь:
Ведут дураков
Без всяких оков

В загоны, на бойни.
Бараны достойны
Такого исхода,
Коль верят уродам.



---------------------



Lies Genocide and Secret services

Bold-faced deception to cover the traces—
Genocide worse than a war in most cases.
Terrorist acts? Just a part of the staging—
Spooks are adept at deceit and engaging.



---------------------



Ложь, геноцид и спецслужбы

Бравый ****ёж для сокрытия факта —
Сплошь геноцид, что похуже терактов.
Впрочем, последние есть постановки —
Службы лихи на любые уловки.



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Games of the "gods" and the fools

Tears of a "god"—he’s pathetic,
Falling down as pouring rain.
Wait a little—soon it’s drastic:
Flood will drown us all in pain.

Call it "judgment," call it "warning,"
Yet it’s just a hollow phrase.
World decayed to filth and mourning,
Wasted work in futile craze.

Wars and fake diseases breeding—
Global Madness rules the land.
Feeling’s useless, thought’s misleading,
Only sarcasm will stand.

Let’s enjoy it! On the ending
Of this wretched, doomed parade,
Hell will vanish, yet descending
To new Hell we’ll march betrayed.

Hell to Hell—the wheel is spinning,
Infernal cycles never break.
Fools won’t grasp this endless thinning—
It’s a game they call "a fate."



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Vigor

Heaven’s wrath? Just fools’ despair.
Life is flesh—no soul to spare.
(Keep your skin, that's all that matters!)
Worse than hell are earthly tatters.

Yet the dullards stand up tall,
Brisk and bold before the fall.



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Poet on the Edge of the Abyss

A mundane sketch, a daily grind—
The breaking point is not behind.
It looms so close, so take a break,
Let heart and mind some rest partake.

Yet life’s routine is grim, severe,
A fate more cruel than storms or fear.
And in a time of hate’s cruel reign,
To sing of chores? A worse disdain.

Life’s routine—two sides the same:
A hollow grind, a crime, a shame.
Which one’s darker, who can tell?
Both reek of hopelessness and hell.

But once you rest, your soul unchained,
No peace within will be regained.
For if you’re truly one who writes,
You won’t endure the world’s mad blight.

No need to scream—your rage is moot,
The world is sick, its mind uproot.
It seeks in darkness some relief,
Yet finds no cure for its belief.



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Painting with salted cucumber

Pickled cucumber in brine,
Vodka-drinking mastermind—
Yet the picture’s far from bright,
How are fools still in sight?



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Urban fairy tale

Electrician foolish Ben
Brews his bitter drink again—
Wires bare, a shock to feel,
Tenants dead, all too real.



---------------------



Электрик Пупкин Вася
Снова горькую квасит —
Провода оголились,
И соседи убились.




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Pol Pot's Endless Worries

Pol Pot waits no more—
There’s work to be done.
The people are poured
For a god to be won.
The idol of communism feasts and consumes,
Leaving nothing but shadows and doom.



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Пол Пот не ждёт —
Дел очень много:
Народ в расход
Во имя "бога",
Ведь идол коммунизма пожирает очень много.




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Ум как простокваша

Гуляш и квас,
Перловка-каша.
Не сломят нас:
Ум — простокваша.




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Up the stairs leading down

Children dream of rising high,
Chasing ranks that blind the eye.
Many fools have lost their way—
Climbing up where shadows stay.



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Walk the path that’s truly yours!

Step astray—
Lose your way.
Follow lies,
Meet demise.
Through the smoke of Hell you tread,
If you chase what others spread.
Traps and whispers twist the mind—
Thus, the dark keeps souls confined.



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Mice, stay quiet—geese are bolder.
Gadgets hum as nights grow colder.
"Honk, honk, honk!"—their minds obey,
Drenched in darkness, washed away.



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