Acid Cubicles
2009 November Painted in pitch and glue I stuck into A room - narrow like a path Knocking at the wall of glass I saw a child’s hand close to my face In this disgrace He was a saint as he flied Diadem over his head and his eyes Were glowing like sharpened spears Tasting my tears I find knocking so laud for my ears Besides, I am sure, no one will hear They pay no attention to mortals And importance Disappears, when you’re left with yourself I kept acid cubicles in the shelf Angels, little bastards, cruel children Narrow walls widen As my anger starts to roar Acid cubicles shiver and blow Spurt of burning liquid touched the boy’s face His velvet cloak and wings of lace I never pray to holy I worship my strength and my glory
1 Comment
Devil’s Saturday 2009 September When Saturday comes I wash my brushes I erase their blood from my easel I clean my thoughts from raging lust I empty my cellar and room from the dust When this day comes I pray to the God For the same moments, the same feelings and finale For a locked door and a silent whore I could finally draw on my wrists I waste my weeks while waiting my Sabbath Where the witches are kissing my Father of lust Where the witches are licking my scythe of Christ Tasting my art, sucking my charm And finally filling the cup of my sobs When Saturday comes I wake with a smile I feel I’ll cross the hell before getting older The image of Sunday I met on my way I’ll never have so I’m getting colder “You are Winter if I have the rights to give you a name” “I’m proud of my name – so white… is this cold?” You call them ladies I call them whores It’s like they’re made for the devil in me I adore I’ll never pass this time I feel myself so godlike As if I weren’t here no one could lock the door “You are the image of Reaper who seduces maidens and men” “There are no maidens anymore perhaps they never were” “Where the child ends the sin begins” Let’s play together in this circle of lust I’ll show you the pleasures you’ll show me your mask Don’t say I’m the blind one – I see through all lies I’m your dream, your doom, your gift and… don’t cry Just dive in this odour of sandal Saturday night The goddess is broken
I can't stand the look of her eyes The innocent words she whispered Turned into desperate cries The goddess is cut With the rusted paper knife She was never pretending But now all her moves are lies The goddess is stolen By the demons of her own Deep into her spoiled mind The last fire-fly's eaten by the clown The goddess has deceived Her name and her luminous cross How will she overcome This damage, this rape This loss? Yesterday 2011.01.03 Šis dzejolis tapa Portugālē
Mechanical Child 2009 September If I were a machine I could always flee I’d be the ruler of my lights and time If I were a machine I would overcome Your human body when my mortal feelings are done If I were a machine I could change my colour I’d be as mechanical as my plastic toys were If I were a machine I’d never know the meanings Of conscience, losing, breathing and death But I’d never feel the warming pyre of my soul Even coming through the pain, resulting from sorrow I’d never feel my blood, my heartbeats and shivers As I am machine I don’t have any magic within Sometimes I feel as there’s no difference Between the man and the machine As if we all were made of same clay As if we all were made to play |
My Nightbirds
My poetry, stories and fairy-tales (mostly in Latvian) |