10 стихов на русском и английском

"Marines"

What is an automatic gun?
A sender of bullets, swift and grim?
A servant of Evil, a deadly one,
Listening to what CREATURES spin?

Believing lies, obeying commands,
A soulless machine of ruthless design—
Through poisoned minds, by unseen hands,
They corrupt humanity, line by line.

The stronger the CREATURES' hold grows,
The more of these machines arise—
Now, as the tide of darkness flows,
"Marines" are legions in disguise.



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Work

To be a fool — a heavy chore,
For fools abound, and more, and more.
Idiocy now reigns "supreme",
World Fascism’s ever-growing scheme.

Darkness laid the ancient base,
An idiotic, boundless space.
Let them crush "ideals" anew,
False idols flood the wretched view.

If vile seems trite, worn to the bone,
A fresh grotesque will soon be grown.
Devour neighbors, one by one,
And thus, the path is clearly spun.

Once again, the Overton Window
Widens wide, like open sin.
Laws will follow, signed and sealed,
To make the World a wasteful field.

Fools, decay, vile powers that be,
Mark the world’s identity.
Idiots rise in false elation,
Ever easy for their station.

They’ll gather all, erect anew
A global camp of poisoned hue,
Tripling lies with weary breath,
Leading minds to living death.



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Fools, Both Rustic and Modern

"It snowed and snowed across the land,
Through all its reaches.
A candle burned upon the stand,
A candle burned…"
But no, it wasn’t just a flame—
The chandelier was blazing!
The executioner’s glasses gleamed,
Their sharpness truly dazing".
Alexander Galich, "In Memory of Pasternak", 1966


No need for hangmen now, you see—
Just triple all the lies,
And fools will rush, quite zealously,
To build camps where truth dies.

A modern Camp will soon arise—
How very high-tech!
A "People" with dull, vacant eyes
Will bow beneath its wreck.

The rustic fools once cried for whips,
A priest, a spy, a guard;
Their heirs now digitize their scripts,
Oppression masked, yet hard.

CowID, war—a madhouse grows,
The chaos ever crueler.
The masses molded into crows—
Here Hell shall be the ruler.

Perhaps a global cataclysm
Will cleanse and start anew,
But for now, blunt fascism
Bites fools with venom "true"...



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Папа у Васи док в математике,
Но он по жизни полный тюфяк.
А недоумки вышли в "прагматики":
Мусор "наверх", коль полный бардак.




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В услужении Дерьму Люциферианской Системы
 
Ценность жизни,
Коль на тризне
По уму
Мы находимся, Дерьму
В услуженьи
И в РАСТЛЕНЬИ
Никакая,
Но не хаем
Суть Устройства
В беспокойстве
Лишь о шкуре,
Коль тьма дури.
Беспокойство о Душе —
Лишь тогда не на туше.
А спасение Ума —
Путь из адского Дерьма.




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О, конченый мир:
Убог он и сир.
Надежд никаких:
Надеешься — псих.




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The hopeless world

The world at its end:
So bleak, diar friend.
No hope to pursue:
To hope is to rue.



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Безумье помогает.
А что Душа в нём тает,
Последним здесь вопросом,
Ведь Ад устроен просто.
 




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The best assistant in the Hell

Madness lends its aid.
The soul may start to fade,
But that's the smallest care—
Hell's simple in its snare.



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Do not reason?

Do not reason? -
Have a prison:
Get a "five",
If not live.



--- Всего 10 стихов ---



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