For thousand years I wait and wait

For thousand years I wait and wait
and spin in vain my prayer wheel.
Is this my life, is this my fate?
For thousand years I wait and wait.
Myself I can invent, create.
From nothingness to something real.
For thousand years I wait and wait
and spin in vain my prayer wheel.

*Painting – “Cupid with the Wheel of Fortune” by Titian, c.1520.

My prayer is a merry laughter

My prayer is a merry laughter
in which I say: “Ha ha! Ha ha!”
I do not care what comes after.
My prayer is a merry laughter.
Life is but a yearning for the hereafter.
A hope to cancel nature’s law.
My prayer is a merry laughter
in which I say: “Ha ha! Ha ha!”

*Painting – “The Young Rembrandt as Democritus the Laughing Philosopher” by Rembrandt, 1629.

Set a goal before your eyes

Set a goal before your eyes.
Stretch your wings and reach the skies.
Countless times fall down and rise.
Set a goal before your eyes.

Leave all fears and doubts behind.
With clenched teeth work hard and grind.
Only these few things keep in mind –
Leave all fears and doubts behind.

Dare to walk the path you choose.
Fear not any bumps or bruise.
Before you win, you have to lose.
Dare to walk the path you choose

Never let your head hang down.
Be a king and wear your crown.
In your dreams immerse and drown
Never let your head hang down.

For this life you have been made
Do not stand in the dark and shade.
There is no reason to be afraid.
For this life you have been made.

*Painting “Landscape with an Archer” by David Ligare, 1991.

After all these forlorn bygone years

After all these forlorn, bygone years,
it turns out – I am a fool.
My mind is filled with petty fears.
I worry much and lose my cool.

After all these grudging days of past,
I have come to this lonely place.
At what I’ve done, I stand aghast.
My inner fears I cannot face.

After all these nights of cold and frost,
I haven’t found a single light.
The hopes I had, have all been lost.
My death, so near, yet out of sight.

After all these stupid words I’ve said,
I go to bed and have my sleep.
I do not care what lies ahead –
My thoughts are dull and not that deep.

After all these wasted happy hours
I feel joyful and content.
My life is sweet bed of flowers.
I have no reason to lament.

*Painting “Resting on the Vine” by Carl Spitzweg, 1845.

To make this world a better place

To make this world a better place –
the only thing I have to do.
In bitter hearts to leave a hopeful trace,
To make this world a better place –
This life in full to live, embrace.
Though happy moments, they are so few.
To make this world a better place –
the only thing I have to do.

*Painting “A Digger” by Vincent van Gogh, 1881.

What are these words compared to sex?

What are these words compared to sex?
Folly and mere nothing.
All simple things are complex.
What are these words compared to sex?
Desires, wants have side effects.
On to this thought I hold and cling.
What are these words compared to sex?
Folly and mere nothing.

*Painting “The Beautiful Meditation On An Egg” by George Saru, 1993.

I urinate on the Holy Ghost

I urinate on the Holy Ghost.
My golden rain he loves the most.
For godly things I have an itch.
This triune god is my bitch.

I urinate on Jesus Christ,
no lesser man would have sufficed.
Your sins, let me wash away,
repent and be baptized today.

I urinate on God the Father
for besides him, there is no other.
Let me shave your white beard off
and in your face then laugh and scoff.

I urinate on the Blessed Virgin
for she was born without a sin.
Would you like to fuck as well
and then promptly go to hell?

I urinate on Lucifer
for it is human – to sin and err.
May all the devils see this sight
in which your star will burn so bright.

I urinate on the muslim prophet
and do this proudly without regret.
Your Allah, too, can suck my cock
24/7 around the clock.

I urinate on all Hindu idols.
In ugliness they have no rivals.
Shiva, Vishnu, Krishna, Ganesh,
from this earth you soon will vanish.

I urinate on Buddhist enlightenment.
It offers nothing but confinement.
I better smoke weed to death
than meditate on my breath.

I urinate on all holy books,
on fanatics and religious crooks.
No godly man is spared this fate
Come and see, before it’s too late.

I urinate on all sacred things,
Be they heroes, gods or kings.
No spirit, deity or rule of law
can force my mind to withdraw.

*Photograph “Piss Christ” by Andres Serrano, 1987.

The best I can do today, I must

The best I can do today, I must.
For I do not know what tomorrow brings.
Let all my worries into smoke combust;
The best I can do today, I must.
Let all my fears return to dust.
As they are, I take these things.
The best I can do today, I must.
For I do not know what tomorrow brings.

*Painting “The working mower” by Ferdinand Hodler, 1909.

And then arrived reality

And then arrived reality.
From deep slumber she disturbed me.
Now I see, there is no god.
Reality is much more odd.

And then arrived reality
in all her beauty and brutality.
I greet her with a hug and kiss.
She smiles and says: what is amiss?

And then arrived reality
reminding me of life’s finality.
She put her hands on my eyes
and said: each life one day dies.

And then arrived reality
coupled with illness and agony.
I cried and prayed: Please go away.
But she replied: I came to stay.

And then arrived reality
without gods and morality.
She doesn’t mind to be ignored.
She walks slow, on her own accord.

And then arrived reality
restoring things to normality.
All fears and hopes she swept away.
I trust in her. Let come what may.

*Painting – “Wind Fallen Trees” by Ivan Shishkin, 1886.

Be nice and starve an artist

Be nice and starve an artist.
His life is meaningless.
On air he should subsist
to maintain his success.

Be nice and slay an angel.
His wings are way too big.
Pave his sacred road to hell
and do not care a fig.

Be nice and fuck a virgin.
Her youth won’t last for long.
Caress her hair and touch her skin.
You can do no wrong.

Be nice and throw a preacher
into a lion’s den.
Let lions be his teacher
and not a crowd of men.

Be nice and burn a Bible.
For drivel it contains.
Why bother with such trifle
that keeps your mind in chains.

Be nice and hang a Jesus
into your living room.
His story never ceases
to inspire grief and gloom.

Be nice and waste this hour
if you want to make some strides.
This world is the will to power
and nothing else besides!

*Painting “Martyr on a circus ring” by Fyodor Bronnikov, 1869.

What peace and blessings without a god

What peace and blessings without a god.
To be human is to be flawed.
In my mistakes I rejoice,
for happiness is all by choice.

What love and meaning without a deity.
I celebrate myself with gaiety.
My heart is filled with joy and peace
for I know all this will cease.

What happiness without god’s grace.
I have no shadows to embrace.
Freedom – such a precious thing.
To only her my soul will sing.

What wisdom without creeds, beliefs.
No gods and spirits my mind conceives.
In all the temples and sacred churches
I haven’t found anything to purchase.

What clarity without religious notions.
Let us speak without emotions.
I cleanse my tongue from god’s good word
and all that’s foolish and absurd.

*Painting “Portrait of Voltaire” by Jacques Augustin Catherine Pajou

Today my poetry went fishing

Today my poetry went fishing
and caught this one cheerful verse.
Meaningless is all well-wishing
except if said in reverse.

Today my heart went wild and restless.
In my darkness I found light.
No words this feeling can express.
Gone are all my fears and fright.

Today my dreams went up in smoke.
I seek no fire in these ashes.
What is left seems to be broke.
The truth appears in flashes.

Today my thoughts went round and round
till they stopped and came to rest.
All my wisdom fell to the ground.
I’m glad I got it off my chest.

Today my life went down the drain
and I was left with this simple verse.
What have I to lose or gain?
I’m one with the universe.

*Painting – “The Poor Fisherman” by Pierre Puvis de Chavannes, 1881

What if all my thoughts are due to illness

What if all my thoughts are due to illness
and my dreams because of pain?
Maybe that’s why I cannot rest in stillness
and all this living seems in vain.

What if all my days are not numbered
and the future is in my hands?
But if so, why am I so encumbered
with useless nonsense and silly plans?

What if all my stories are wrong
and my knowledge is mistaken?
But if so, why do I go along
with views I have already forsaken?

What if all my secrets were found out
and my troubles – made public?
Maybe then I could live without
worry and don’t care a lick.

What if all my moves are known in advance
and my free will is an illusion?
Then I live this life by chance
in senseless noise and confusion.

* Painting “A Mortally Wounded Brigand Quenches his Thirst” by Eugene Delacroix, 1825,

If God exists, then where he hides?

If God exists, then where he hides?
In the center or to the sides?
High up above or down below?
This no one seems to know.

Explain what does your god mean,
how he differs from things not seen?
Can you produce one bit of evidence
beyond that of mere pretense?

Quoting scriptures won’t change my mind.
No proof of god in these I find.
I do not trust in your anecdotes
and neither in your stories, quotes.

All this religious business
stands in a way of progress.
All faith is out of season,
beyond all thought and reason.

Hence, my friends, it is now clear,
All this to me seems very queer.
Let children play with their gods
but to me it makes no odds.

*Painting – “John Brown reading his Bible”, by Horace Pippin, 1942.

I am proud to be an atheist

I am proud to be an atheist.
Faith, religion I resist.
No gods can sway me in their lanes.
I am free. I’ve lost my chains.

I am proud to be an atheist.
Gods and deities I never missed.
My time I spend on other things,
whatever my tomorrow brings.

I am proud to be an atheist.
The feet of Christ I never kissed.
My mouth will never touch this dirt
that has left so many hurt.

I am proud to be an atheist.
But in what does my faith consist?
Let me answer you this way:
the time of faith has passed away.

I am proud to be an atheist.
I hope to dissipate all godly mist.
Will you help and lend your hand,
together we can clean this land.

I am proud to be an atheist.
At all the gods I’ll shake my fist.
Fear not their empty futile threats,
for deity always fails, forgets.

I am proud to be an atheist.
For gods do not exist.
Of this I am sure and certain
that no one lurks behind the curtain.

I am proud to be an atheist.
From my life gods are dismissed.
Please do not pray for my poor soul,
for I am happy as a whole.

In his heart the fool will say

In his heart the fool will say:
There is a heaven and a god.
Instead of learning he will pray,
meditate and cry aloud.

These filthy little believing beasts
who spread their poison in our midst.
All you prophets, preachers, priests:
You have no right to live, exist.

All you mystics, seekers, saints
who corrupt the youthful minds.
What evils, crimes and moral taints,
in your presence one often finds.

You call your Lord in times of trouble
and you beg for his saving grace.
You’ve been living in one big bubble
shielded from your own true face.

You say that you enjoy god’s bliss
and that you have felt his touch.
What kind of nonsense is this?
Your pretty words do not mean much.

You think that God is by your side
and watches over your every move.
You hold this fancy for your guide
but all this you cannot prove.

You claim that God is beyond reason
and yet your mind is never still.
Beliefs and dogmas are your prison
that you have built at your own will.

*Painting – “The Fool” by Pablo Picasso, 1904.

Some people say their dreams out loud

Some people say their dreams out loud
but I prefer them to enshroud
in darkness, rain, storm and cloud,
with my strength and might endowed.

Some people yearn for gods, spirits
but I prefer my mind and wits.
No exceptions my rule admits.
In my soul no deity fits.

Some people search for happiness
but I prefer to digress
from all the honor and success
to a place with no address.

Some people crave for love and sense
but I prefer to dispense
with such pride and pretense
at my own risk and expense.

Some people want to be great
but I prefer my own fate.
For better days I cannot wait.
To live today – it is too late.

*Painting “Dream of Icarus” by Sergey Solomko

Everything will be alright

Don’t cry for me, my little girl.
For you alone my heart will swirl.
Take my hand and hold it tight.
Everything will be alright.

Don’t cry for me, my precious gem.
But If you do, I won’t condemn.
I stand beside you in this fight.
Everything will be alright.

Don’t cry for me, my lovely dove.
With you alone I am in love.
In your presence I take delight.
Everything then is alright.

Don’t cry for me, my sweet rose.
What future brings, no one knows.
Set these words before your sight.
Everything will be alright.

Don’t cry for me, my unknown friends.
This is not how my story ends.
Though shadows may appear tonight.
Everything will be alright.
*Painting – “Sylvester-Smiling” by Robert Henri, 1914.

What this life appears to be

What this life appears to be
is something strange it is not.
My eyes look out but do not see.
This wasted life is all I’ve got.

What I was one year ago
today I am not anymore.
All things are in flux and flow.
I have no roots, I have no core.

What were these nights before the dawn?
My darkest hours I spend in light.
All precious things have long been gone
I am asking now, is this alright?

What I am today is this –
an author of these boring songs.
Let me jump into abyss.
To no one else my soul belongs.

What has happened here before
these things were in flux and flow?
I am not the same anymore,
my soul has died long time ago.

*Painting – “A troubled soul” by Ferdinand Hodler.

I wonder if I ever had known

I wonder if I ever had known
how fragile is the hardest stone.
To wear and tear all things are prone.
So leave me now to die alone.

I wonder if I ever had a heart
to give away or to break apart.
Into the wind I throw my dart.
Where it lands, I care not a fart.

I wonder if I ever had a dream
to be a king and to reign supreme.
Twice I stepped into the same stream.
My life is not what it would seem.

I wonder if I ever had a soul
that I could neglect or control.
What does it matter, after all –
to see the parts but not the whole?

I wonder if I ever had a chance
to lag behind or to advance.
Under the open sky I live and dance,
I am awake and yet in trance.

*Painting – “The farmer” by Max Liebermann, 1894.