STEVEN DUPLIJ

        NB:  Steven Duplij is the pen name for physicist Stepan Douplii

___________________________
 

SUPERMATRIX OF PSEUDOLIFE

In laughter it seemed, that life is linear,
Like a straight line—from In to Out.
Achievements, unctuous flattery,
Forced me to forget— About:
Continuation is not in lamentation
Of years gone by— in Vain.
In nilpotency— the pain of expectation,
That, without meaning, I’ll disappear— Again.

Pseudolife—in squares of tenderness,
As supermatrix—almost from zeros.
I avoid the events of vastness,
To remove predictions of evil days.

____________________________
*) Mathematical concepts used for the poetry images:
Nilpotent object (number) - its square is equal to nothing (zero).
Supermatrix is a matrix (table) containing nilpotent elements,
is used to describe the supersymmetry and Theory of Everything.
Zero is only one of the possible nilpotent numbers, there exist others.
Details (according to these keywords) in https://wikipedia.org

Суперматрица псевдожизни
 

В смех казалось, что жизнь линейная,
Как прямая — от In до Out.
Достижения, лесть елейная
Заставляли забыть About:
Продолжение не в стенаниях
О прошедших годах — in Vain.
В нильпотентности — боль ожидания,
Что без смысла исчезну — Again.

Псевдожизнь из квадратов нежности,
Supermatrix — почти из нулей.
Избегаю событий безбрежности,
To remove предсказанья злых дней.

______________________
*) Математические понятия, используемые для poetry images:
Нильпотентный объект (число) — квадрат его равен ничто (нулю).
Суперматрица — это матрица (таблица), содержащая нильпотентные элементы,
используется для описания суперсимметрии и Теории Всего.
Нуль — только одно из возможных нильпотентных чисел, есть и другие.
Детали (по этим ключевым словам) в
https://ru.wikipedia.org.

EVENING OF LANGUOR

I once again cast the meaningless evening
In a veil of shattering sadness.
No longer accepting the life's truth,
I have given up my infirm dreams.

Predictions and pseudo-tossings
On the fractured scenes of love.
In my tear-stained commemorations
I'm exhausted to find vis-a-vis.

I will dress in laughter as the last priest,
So that one, who didn't believe, may heed.
I'll shake off my debts becoming prisoner
Of the reveries that I drove off at night

Вечер истомы

Вновь набросил на вечер бессмысленный
Разрушающей грусти покров.
Перестал принимать жизни истину,
Отказался от немощных снов.

Предсказания, псевдо-метания
По расколотым сценам любви.
В раскалённых слезой поминаниях
Истощаюсь найти визави.

В смех оденусь последним священником,
Чтобы тот, кто не верил, тот внял.
Отряхнусь от долгов, стану пленником
Тех мечтаний, что в ночь отгонял.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1MC77OOhVw8

BEFORE THE WAR

Before the war—
       I always cannot sleep.
The images of enemies
      interfere.
Memories,
      in which the birds
Are pecking my heart.
The cry of the gods
Cannot prevent—
      the veto.
Why is it?
      A simple question.
Millennia—
      no answer.
Graves again—
      instead of roses...

Перед войной

Перед войной —
      всегда не спится,
Мешают образы
      врагов.
Воспоминания,
      где птицы
Клюют мне сердце.
      Крик богов
Предотвратить —
      не может вето.
Зачем оно?
      Простой вопрос.
Тысячелетья —
      нет ответа.
Опять могилы —
      вместо роз...

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-Oo_MR7-eXQ

EPOCH-CRAP

       Inspired by a momentary emotional breakdown
       Alain Delon during his farewell interview

The era with its abominations
Exceeded all our expectations.
The ordinary people aren’t considered
To be human beings.
The result of evolution is suffering.

There are no laws, host of betrayals.
The deadlines of exams from wise thoughts
In empty moan are already perverted.
Around the loss, sorrow and crying.

Herds of idlers and murderers
Replace the white population with meat
Being freeloaders and the bloodsuckers
Which for future eras—dirt, biomass.

The best brains are stolen
For a sheaf of bucks-papers,
Instead of thriving, but “outcast” countries
Only deserts are left.
Forward—transhumanism without trials,
Until the stumps of the survivors will take revenge.

Progress has been forced to serve
Sick "spies" peeking through the cracks,
To justify catching “bad ones” to cover up
Their immoral complexes and agendas.

Why were we born among enemies?
For which they shot us every year of centuries?
The soul was not ready to be sterilized.
Neither the one who betrayed,
Nor the one dying in cage.

Who is laughing at this crazy circus?
The actors are not laughing,
The stage is in the tombs, every fall is a lie.
Nature, your mother, is imperfect.

Эпоха-дрянь

       Навеяно минутным эмоциональным срывом Алена
       Делона во время его прощального интервью

Эпоха мерзостью своей
Превысила все ожиданья.
Простых не держат за людей.
Итог развития — страданья.

Законов — нет, предательств — сонм.
Извращены все сроки сдачи
Экзаменов из умных мыслей — в стон.
Вокруг потерей скорбь и плачи.

Стада бездельников, убийц
Сменяют население на мясо
Халявщиков и кровопийц.
Для будущих эпох — грязь, биомасса.

Украли лучших за бумажек сноп,
Пустыни от «изгоев-стран» остались.
Вперёд — трансгуманизм без проб,
Пока обрубки выживших не поквитались.

Прогресс заставили служить
Больным "шпионам", что подглядывают в щели,
Оправдывая ловлей "тех-плохих", чтобы сокрыть
Свои безнравственные комплексы и цели.

Зачем рожали нас среди врагов?
За что простреливали каждый год столетий?
К души стерилизации был не готов
Ни тот, кто предал, ни погибший в клети.

Кому смешон весь этот цирк?
Артистам не до смеха — сцена
В могилах, ложь — каждый кувырк.
Природа, мать твоя, несовершенна.

GLAD I'M ALIVE

I remember them at night,
But my heart remains silent.
I pay back debts to those
Who are in the past,
Then oblivion tastes more bitter.

Their lives are refashioned,
The dreams became crosses.
The goal’s gone to a cheapness
Of the soul’ emptiness.

I'll turn tears into tenderness,
I'll dispel the naiveté.
I won't forgive the inevitable,
However, I'm glad I'm alive.

        Edited by Mike Hewitt, Canterbury, UK

Радует - жив

В ночь о них вспоминаю,
А сердце молчит.
Прошлым долг возвращаю:
Забвенье — горчит.

Перекроены жизни,
Мечтаний — кресты.
Цель ушла в дешевизну
Души пустоты. f

Превращу слёзы в нежность,
Развею наив.
Не прощу неизбежность,
Но радует — жив.

WHO NEEDS US ALL

There's only one hope warming my soul,
That someone needs us, that someone is waiting for us.
In fact: their thought is only of profit,
That can be withdrawn from us.
Naiveté lies at once.
The illusion's that the beggar of oblivion—is for them,
Who waits for our thoughts and sufferings.
We write these lines, we get hysterical,
And as if we're waiting to be read,
Like the higher powers sowing.
In truth, the whole reality is pure zero.
What we strived for turned out to be slag
Of unattained goals, palaces made of bullets
Of plans shattered by life, of vows turned to lies.
Laughing, we throw the squeezed years into night,
We don't need them and we're bored with them.
All that's left to overcome is self-pity:
The sprouts of feelings that are gone—are fossilized.

           Edited by Mike Hewitt, Canterbury, UK

Кому нужны мы все

Одна надежда теплится в душе,
Что мы нужны кому-то, кто-то ждёт нас.
В действительности: мысль — о барыше,
Который можно снять. Наивность врёт враз.

Иллюзия, что нищь забвенья — им,
А наших мыслей и страданий — ждут все.
Мы пишем строки эти, истерим
И будто ждём — прочтут как высших сил сев.

На деле вся реальность — чистый нуль.
К чему стремились, оказалось шлаком
Из целей недостигнутых, дворцов из пуль
Разбитых жизнью планов, клятвам-вракам.

Смеясь, бросаем выжатые годы в ночь,
Они нам не нужны и надоели.
Осталось — к себе жалость превозмочь:
Ушедших чувств ростки — окаменели.

          https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ARN_GVu-cxs

                   Return to Poems Menu

                    ____________
 

PERVERSION

Love — is a perversion,
That’s worth so much money,
You can't make it in a dozen lifetimes.
What's the point? It's the same thing over and over again:
Treason, lucre, hatred,
As a result of the aspirations,
The pseudo-passion of a pauper.
But only — have pity for the children.

A family — is a perversion
Like the stench of reproaches,
Duplicity, violence over the soul,
The sport of excellence,
Insults and trade.
In reality: a parade of vices,
And in public, it's just a fake smile.
As well, the clink of glasses, of pure lies.

To run outdoors from your country — is perversion.
To shit savorily on yours,
And “thirty pieces of silver” —
Get them, spend them.
Then in tears, grimacing,
Scribbling false texts —
Back to the lit-servers of yours,
Hoping for forgiveness. As always.

Dreaming — is a perversion.
The greatness of plans:
For show and bragging to the crowd.
In fact, zilch is nothing,
Only the author knows about it,
But he continues to drive the void.
Why strive, if slumbers are in vain?
And He, up there, is laughing — to Zero.

To sculpt mediocre snot-rhymes,
"Spring has come and gone" —
Is perversion.
To proudly climb in
To the first web-page
Of "Ratings" of sick spammers.
Poetry has nothing to do with it.
And bytes don't burn — they get wiped.
To escape from your house,
Which you set on fire —
Is perversion.
But for an empty freebie,
Comfort and pleasure:
The complex of insensitivity —
Blossomed into uselessness,
To be in the darkness of oblivion,
In the end, to burn yourself out.

The whole of my life — is a perversion.
Where did she go? — It's unclear.
But obviously not in the sense,
Where I wanted her to go.
Instead of health — a host of symptoms,
Among the desires, the least:
To ease the pain, also the soul.
It's a pity, but there's no one to ask.
The life I have read out — was one.

To not know,
That everything — is perversion,
Is perversion.

To write
That everything — is perversion,
Is perversion...

            Edited by Mike Hewitt, Canterbury, UK

               Original Russian: https://stihi.ru/2024/03/05/3054

ON THE FOOTBOARD OF THE TRAIN OF LIFE

It seemed to me that, to strain things a little—
You are on the train of life already.
In first class, drinking rum and fooling around,
And all around there is beauty, naked.

In screams I dreamed I'd be the one everyone wanted,
From their calls it would not be possible to escape,
And they would follow my good-natured advice
So as not to lag behind.

And quote my thoughts aloud, to set
My example for their children, how to live.
How to rid their souls of futility,
And with enemies—how to become friends without revenge.

But hopes were blurred by reality,
Beauty dissolved by everyday life.
Instead of spark of discoveries—banality.
Children grew up. I am forgotten by the sky.

Instead of first class—a footboard,
Wind, rain—and my hand weakens.
Well, from the dishes of pleasure, only a crumb remains,
From dreams and goals—a line.

     Edited by Mike Hewitt, Canterbury, UK

         Original: https://stihi.ru/2023/09/28/2243

     Youtube declamation by poetess Olga Akhmetova:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5EMktk50WGI

     Also
https://dzen.ru/video/watch/651bbbd5a70e672514ee293c

OLD

Me—became very old
And stupid completely.
I was a superstar—
Now I’m like a corpse.

I desire—not all,
I write—not what I want.
Pseudo-success,
Like a dusty coat.

Roles—in wastebin,
Words make me sick.
From formulas —spleen,
From books—their rumor.

My countless children
Were stolen: nice those.
Honor is forgotten—
While the sin remains.

I’ll take my stave,
Tenderize my moan.
My trail has dried up,
Bell’s ring—in my ears.

      Edited by Mike Hewitt, Canterbury, UK

      Original Russian: https://stihi.ru/2023/11/08/8083

VAMPIRE
 

Deserted leaf
Of unshed tears—
How to fill in the page,
And what to leave?
To whom and why?
A meaningless question.
I was there. No.
You cannot
Correct what's past.

Hysterics can be inside a man:
Recognition of that—
Only emphasizes his power.
The guitar does not save the situation—
You’re alone again.
Other people's faces, passions—
Everything's gone wrong for me.

Or throw a syllable
That I didn't say—
Into the urn,
To wipe out all those files
Of zero size?
To whom do I complain
About so short a term
Of a gray chord
Of sound between the strings?

I cast a doomed glance at the world:
Friends, loved ones, stolen children—
Are gone in the blink of an eye.
The holy vampire of oblivion
Has bent this Time
Into a fleeting moment.

    Edited by Mike Hewitt, Canterbury, UK

         Original Russian: https://stihi.ru/2012/01/04/10291
         Youtube declamation by poetess Olga Akhmetova: 
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=76i2PsGLOGs
         Also
https://dzen.ru/video/watch/653b7528f810694360784e80

                   Return to Poems Menu

                    ____________
 

ROWS

Years fly by.
There is less and less of the present.
The inferno of the basest emotions,
The rows of tear-stained faces
Of women loved and loathed,
Standing in loneliness
By the bedside.
Here is all your venom,
And again, it cannot be drunk to the
Dregs.
And the years, they cannot be returned.

        Original Russian: https://stihi.ru/2012/06/30/6970
 

DRAWING

The Past jeers at the future,
Crosses are melted by smoke,
Meanings confess in the horrors’ ward,
Debt stiffs at the uttermost line.

Reiterating my prayer in dream,
I stroll along brightness’ outskirts again,
Drink trouble to draft the drawing
Of desperation on the heart-rending wall.

Generations are cut off by scalpel
Of volte-faces rotted through with guilt,
Haze’s drawing above a pseudo country
Is erased by calque of time.

Repainting despair into hatred,
I knead the moment on evil’s palette,
Cut to pieces crossroads of words
By treasons of those who knew
                            without grasping shoots.

Having changed to imprint non-personal
On the infinite’s arrow to null,
I set fire from the drawing to stars’ condor
And return to my bothering role...

       Original Russian: https://stihi.ru/2012/01/17/10537

       Youtube declamation:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=e-fEs1uqnq8

       Read by Olga Akhmetova, Russian poetess
 
 

WINDOW

Awakening... her alien bed...
I’m sick and drunk,
And full of mad
Emotions, feelings,
Memories...

My Lord! Forgive me –
Set me free
From ugly loneliness
And stone
Of bared reproach less
Than moan.

I saw Trance Window
To the dark –
Its wind was burying
Last soul’s mark...

     Written originally in English.

     Declamation by the author Steven Duplij:
     https://www.dropbox.com/s/ms379jr0wlv1bad/2012-08-12_Duplij-poem-Window-eng.mp4?dl=0

DOWNPOUR

Downpour – by the window,
Snow – inside me.
Selection of mine:
Let you – Sin.

Fire – to my back,
Sheaf – of betrayals.
Edge – near me,
Stop – of Naivety.

On my table, a list
Of mundane affairs,
Splash of ideas,
Sonnets that have been sung.

Downpour – by the window,
Snow – inside me...

    Written originally in English.

    Declamation by the author Steven Duplij:
 https://www.dropbox.com/s/lifctt565n4tj4s/Duplij-poem-Downpour-eng.mp4

DIFFERENT PLANS

So, let you have—your different plans,
And I, like your previous ones, deceived,
Won't blame you, I won't guilt you for anything,
Almost—I understand.
And this, my evening, will be lonely,
The inexhaustible meeting
Gone to minus infinity:
Alone—I'll fall asleep.

My eyes are watery—and me enlightened,
The ceiling dreamless all night long,
While behind the concrete wall of heat—
They are singing and drinking.
Their disinhibited joy—
I'll take it back as a reward.
The blockade of non-feelings is over—
I love you...

          
             Edited by Mike Hewitt, Canterbury, UK

Original Russian: https://stihi.ru/2014/03/24/4198

Youtube declamation:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eGu5lQISEow

            Read by Olga Akhmetova, Russian poetess

                   Return to Poems Menu

                    ____________
 

COAST OF TIME

Again I stare into the distance fervently— the coast of time.
Nothing warms me—just the wind in the night.
The unfolding of meaning is the release of a pseudo-burden.
Excellence melts: debts— are down and out.

Those who were allowed to hit—against all the rules,
In cries, the more meat, the more beautiful the palaces for them.
The land is cleaned with slaughterhouses, but the texts in hymns—are to those.
There are no writers for a long time — liars sow lies.

I wake up in a rage—my life is spent:
Ridiculous goals are scrapped—they have been gone for a long time.
Millions of souls are fooled by the empty,
Groveling before the strong, they lick the stiletto.

To the other coast of time then? Fall into a frenzy.
They dreamed upward zealously, fell down—into the abyss.
And now in our textbooks—there are only fake mummies.
Concealing the hesitations that burn the scab of aspirations.

         Edited by Mike Hewitt, Canterbury, UK
         Original Russian: https://stihi.ru/2023/06/01/2295
         Youtube declamation:
                  https://youtube.com/watch?v=_3snH2AWf7g
                  Read by Olga Akhmetova, Russian poetess

WHY DID YOU GIVE BIRTH
                        TO MY ENEMIES?

All repeats like a sleep:
Always naive, and quite in love.

Why do I sacrifice my fantasy?
To get another empty glass?

There is hope in my sick soul,
That feelings are fresh and there are no clichés,

That all heirs will prolong thee,
Becoming friends, they will incinerate the Satans.

Pity - life is more complicated, I waited for children-gods,
While those gave birth for me to raise enemies.

They hoped in vanity: an enemy to me, a friend to them.
But my genes don't rivet servants.

They will not remove from future generations traces
Of my sincere efforts, of love, not of enmity.

      Original Russian: https://stihi.ru/2023/05/24/3532

INNER WORLDS

There are two worlds inside of us.
The world of pleasure and desire.
The world of the deep - holy and strange
Suddenly shook me in a cry.

Into it openness is not for everyone.
The bereft in the former flick through
Not-life, artificial success.
Having everything: the soul is empty.

Bottomless and futile bunch of reflections
To advise, how to comprehend that world.
The hidden meaning beyond humanity
Burns from within: a flight into madness.

     Original Russian: https://stihi.ru/2022/06/30/2494

     Youtube declamation:
     https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MxIOJWfCr8M
     Read by Olga Akhmetova, Russian poetess

BIRTHDAY

My birthday
Sadder,
Than the day of death.
Not all my "friends"
Will come—
To celebrate.

But when I die,
They will run fast and glad—
To play and bleat:
Those dozens
Failed
Liars.

            Original Russian: https://stihi.ru/2023/03/06/2868
           
             Declamation by Alexander Vonogradskii:        
             https://ivv5hpp.uni-muenster.de/u/douplii/poetry/smf-r/smf-r.htm
             Track 20

                                   NB:  Steven Duplij is the pen name for physicist Stepan Douplii

                   Return to Poems Menu

WHERE TO RUN?

The twenty-first century advises us to run
Wherever possible—just not to sit still.
And no one cares how much honor is worth
To accept the stupid advice of a fool — "burn your bridges".

Will moving only save you from the inside-zero?
Coordinated treason will not solve your soul's problems.
The beggar's clue — to get the pennies of fate,
To take comfort from "them", and with no effort...

But tons of pseudo-feelings do not caress.
The poems’ lines, likes, books, links to yourself
And loving by yourself don't help.
Crushing doubts of your nothingness,
Nor any word-play can dry up the swamp of ranting.

No justification by danger, children and fear—
For jumping into nothingness...
The globality of change will help us hear wisely and calmly
The simple truth: to not fulfill your life with emptiness,
To fly your worthy self over evil temptation's ash.

    Original Russian: https://stihi.ru/2023/04/20/2769

     Youtube declamation: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=We7QOsZi_XE
     Read by Olga Akhmetova, Russian poetess     

FLOWERS

Touching the flowers
Of neglectfulness
They sang
The meaning of revival
For lost purposes,
Motifs of the sincere
And weary Dream
Burnt down by the vital juice
As the echoes of the void
To wane in moan.
In one thrown in the immenseness
Of the icy lonely cage.
On hands and knees from tenderness
Poisoned centuries.
Give the inside scope to souls
To the illnesses of the conscience.
The verse covered with sadness
Is the tombstone-reproach
For them —
Which has been irradiated
By dreams.

        Declamation in English by Tatiana Kudryashova:
        https://www.dropbox.com/s/fcp7jd48k5006zl/flowers.mp3?dl=0
        Original Russian: https://stihi.ru/2022/06/28/3045

TICKET

It is a pity. I won't see this and that,
I won't kiss this one, that one...
For the last verse
I won't spill my dreams.

No. I won't forget the parting
And I won't forgive those who shot.
In the evil of inappropriate excuses
I will not dissolve my soul.

I will scatter screaming, the window is open.
I will not spill trails of bytes.
I will not count the cages of outlived feelings.
To the return train?–The ticket is erased.

       Original Russian: https://stihi.ru/2022/08/02/2769

FLOWERS OF DESTINY

Flowers of Anxiety
Of my wrong fate:
They will not destroy it —
Well, there is no other.

I will remain affectionate
To the enemies of my fate;
I will take them to my temple.
With their poison as medicine.

I'll make me sing a chorale
From my penultimate strength,
That the black-passionate light
Will consecrate my trail.

      Original Russian: https://stihi.ru/2022/08/16/3396

MELTING

Melting into naiveté’s pores
In my yelling and stretched soul,
Being swaddled by questions,
Arguing with Heaven,
This relaxation of doubts
Is drugging me to infinite dreams’ precipice —
Please, write!

Painting the night with meanings
In a hundred fresh but morbid flowers.
Becoming covered with vileness,
I am holding my exaltation
In the manege
Of my helical pseudo-life,
Sewn in a slapdash manner
From the bits of Dream.

Flirting with the whip of Fancy’s Realm
By the ditch of mine, being outer from me,
And tired from insincerity,
Of the marks disfigured with Depth,
I praise the same face;
I forebode my scrap.

The cruelty of lying-prophets’ rules
Will prevent the pouring of itself
Into the abyss of them —
But only for a moment.
The thought will freeze with hope
That this is not the last,
The last of my verses...

       Original Russian: https://stihi.ru/2022/07/20/3025

JUNGLE OF YEARS

Frozen for the night, delirium,
Unrestrained silence,
Emancipated sleep.

Burning the jungle of years,
Sad promises,
Oh, endless lump,
Calm down!

The last chord is sung —
The soul with the soul of a date
Shouts a groan —
Neck bracelet.

Having riddled with kisses,
Hope's evil platform —
Burn it!

The dumb founded
Howl of the wind —
The ossified
Layer of ash
I will accept,
I will squeeze —
I will fall asleep...
 

         Original Russian: https://stihi.ru/2022/06/21/2755

COGNITION

Cognition is an eternal salvation
From instability, evil,
From pleasures and desires,
Which in life have no number.
Where do they lead? Thoughtlessly
Selling everything inside to them,
We paint our silence with a noisy life,
Not noticing the heart of emptiness.
Cognition - a smoky vision
On the slope of the past day,
The cure for snobbery, laziness...
How limited to understand
Their previous meanings —
Habits of slaves and roles
To revive the holy personality —
And not to put an end to it.

           Original Russian https://stihi.ru/2022/06/19/2927

TWO AUTUMNS

What to see out the window but leaves?
Yes, they turn yellow, die, fly.
Seeing off the autumn of life,
Does not bring back the spring.

Passion has cooled; the song has been sung.
Dance? To whom? What for?
The meaning of a joyful summer
Has sunk into oblivion — with nothing.

Will the Thread of Fate open the veil,
and how do you know?
I would get away from the groans
of the forest of vain dreams.

A moment drinks spring …

       Original Russian: https://stihi.ru/2022/06/18/3156

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       ____________

TENDER IS THE NIGHT

Yes, I have said it all.
And I am sick
From repeating myself.
The hall is full
Of them, naive
Dazzling,
But not loving me.

I have waited for them,
I have lobbied them,
Dreamed about them,
Of giving myself up to the cry.

But no,
They do not need my light.
I glisten, grieving
For those that I have sung,
Rhyming their immutability.

So pity, I didn't have time
To repay his debts in full.

I will forget
Despair of
Hot bodies,
Cold words.
Fairy tales are erased.
Tender is the night.

Edited by Mike Hewitt (Canterbury, UK).
Original Russian: https://stihi.ru/2022/12/24/1222

Read by Olga Akhmetova, Russian poetess:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YzZXprmqewE

WAITING FOR POEMS

I'm waiting for your poems,
And you are—in everyday life.
I understand—
I don't moan.
All the shackles—
To the evil orbit?
I will caress you,
I will cling
To you
In prostration…

I'm waiting for love,
But you're talking on money.
Transfers—won't save you.
In your sins—your are alone:
The steps of Fate.
And aspirations?—
They will lie.

I'm waiting for you-
With no arguments.
Everything I raved about
Did not ever come true...
It wasn't possible to sharpen
Naivety’s facets
With a sense of bliss.

Laughing. Don't wait
For calls from there.
There is nobody,
Dreams—are not here.
Pastness is my friend
And the cold of a soul.
The high—forget it...
Life is like hubris…

Original Russian: https://stihi.ru/2022/11/05/381
Declamation in Youtube https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=e-_lqzUeqrs
Read by Olga Akhmetova, Russian poetess

A VERY HAPPY NEW YEAR

City—is dead,
People—are drunk.
My soul—is sad.
Life—is junk.

Rain lost His tears.
Brain lost its mind.
Empty frontiers
Out of line.

Heart—as in false.
Goal—as in wrong.
Deep sense—in nulls.
God says, “Begone!”

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       ____________

THRONE

The air is clean,
I'm suffocating.
The table is full;
My soul is empty.

I plunge into the blank sheet.
Shouting, I rush,
Angry with my songs!
But another me I won't become.

The ghost of days,
Sprouting into old age,
Draws the Ninth circle
Toward me.

I'm waiting to
wash away what's left
Of the insignificant
Stones in the words.

The sword is thrown --
Before my fate.
The sighs of years
Are beyond counting.

Idleness,
A meeting's
Empty feast.
The throne is warm,
But I'm not here...

Original Russian: https://stihi.ru/2014/01/28/5456

Youtube declamation:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NuF-jOvS2dk

Read by Olga Akhmetova, Russian poetess

DREAM

Break away from the passion of the book,
Turn away from the hustle and bustle -
I want you as real!
Become you,
        Become you.

Don't just live in the moment
Don't give up on your dreams
I feel in my heart that you're waiting
And I'm waiting
        and I'm waiting.

I'm waiting for your freedom
To start caressing life again
Because there is more
So much more
       So much more left for us.

Suppress your helpless moans
Don't neglect the veil
It's too costly, too costly.
Peace,
      Peace...

       Original Russian: https://stihi.ru/2022/06/27/6862

LOVE STORY

What I gave her, she took,
Never let a word pass by,
Not half a word in a moan
From the beggar's mouth of her beloved.

But she brought the meaning back.
In her inner strokes,
She spun the old ones, all in a row.
To become Her, she did not try.

Yes, for a woman to receive a song
It matters little where it comes from.
She knows whom to betray:
Who pays, and with whom she'll be.

Well, pay with feeling, with yourself.
It is cruel naivete
To explain their pain through them,
Hoping for reciprocity.

No, I will not hold back with a dream
No tears or cries that I have sung in vain.
Hard to love, easily deceived.
There is no higher happiness to lose.

     Original Russian: https://stihi.ru/2022/08/04/2329

DIVORCE

I will divorce myself into a shouting match,
But not for drama.
I'd overdo it with my fate --
A faded, rotting trail.

I'd overstay my welcome.
With strange meanings
Of untouchable, false years.

Wait!
Don't waste
Your delirium with "no."
Do not build a cathedral,
Sick with leukemia,
In my soul.

A star calling into the night,
I'll burn the prognosis.
I'll glue the roses -
With apology.

Daughter in one,
In the other naiveté.
Away!

    Original Russian: https://stihi.ru/2022/07/17/6315

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       ____________

WISHES

Night. I stopped wishing for desire ...
The computer crashes. I don't sleep again.
Having hated parting,
I don’t like to meet more often.

Should I dial a random number?
She will answer. And - will come.
Again - the usual feast
Rusting to a dot. Fleeting ...

Where to call?
Because I am here at home.
To kiss - in my own, native.
Their cries, caresses are familiar to me.
They don't get cold.

I'll cover the letters with formulas,
So as not to go crazy with them...
Choking on the illusions of life,
I'll forget past volumes…


        Original Russian https://stihi.ru/2022/06/17/3600

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                               Steven Duplij EPO Poems published prior to 2023