Артем Тюльников - Сложные стихи на английском

cellophane.

And after all I can’t be fain.

To do the things that desecrate my fane.

Just like a trickster who could never deign

To say: “You have been strangled by chicane

My art’s your trust and my legerdemain”.

With ease my path I preordain.

I’ll always be non-flammable propane.

My grip is that of polyurethane

To travel on against the grain…

I’m out of breath, though run amain.

Leaving the trench of my champaign,

Trying to save what you profane.

Oh, what a hopeless scatterbrain!

To nihilism you are a counterstain.

That is the time when I under great strain

Watch everything go down the drain.

Oneness of Two Is Halved Once They Are Turned Moiré

A crew of order and shambolic disarray -

Two factions that’ll never stop their fray,

One’s in the lead after another’s clandestine endplay -

Perpetual, skewed and so agley -

A blatantly recurrent, maddening stairway.

It’s reminiscent of a sinuous byway,

Or rather a refracted ray.

And surface flat becomes a brae.

The foundation proves to have a thin backstay.

The main road infiltrates subway,

Where conscience is too firm to slip away,

And chaos strives for holding sway.

Waging a battle on a tray

That will be served to feed “Dismay”.

Was ordered to reveal love’s hideaway.

We were to find a needle in a heap of hay,

To go against the grains of time and leave unscathed with walkaway.

To claim permissiveness the order of the day,

To greet the very Caesar with “Ave”!

“The yet to be discovered system in the Milky Way…”

A journey with a redolent bouquet

With quite an unexpected expose

Of lifelong disenchantment, disappointment and decay

Did really manage to portray

Me as a paramour manqué.

With my lips sealed I feared stiff lest my damn look should say:

“It’s unbelievable that having had my last and a most promising essay

In hunt for happiness, I should’ve brought melancholy someway.

Manners be hanged, I’ve always known I’d rue the frigging moment any day

When blasted vagueness staged a play

Where I took part, where gained my sobriquet”.

My apprehensions I could not display

Or otherwise…rebellion, mutiny, foul play

My crew could travel till doomsday

Or…till wild water filled hatchway.

So hardly had we left the bay

On a refulgent day of May,

Its tact suave, the look soignée,

And voice melodious, each section given vivace,

Than vicious wind led us astray.

Forcing the radiance into crashlanding on below sea level run –be cursed- way

Herding a flock of ink above – as good a shepherd as a bouvier.

All of a sudden all the calm whittled away.

Why, an inveterate roué,

His senses sharp, his mind risqué,

While intimacy’s such that one has never known in cabaret.

As in the sea of lust his anchor is aweigh.

Its tainted waters cloak precaution with remissness to bewray.

Acts straight without any foreplay.

One doesn’t need to plug away

At understanding the impatience of an easy lay.

A dingy substance started leaking out of a sweet, lambent dragee,

So colours murky, branching out, replaced gay.

Someone had rubbed the latter in the utterly wrong way.

The shiny dyes got bleached and hit the hay

In their loose-fitting ebon negligee.

The sky was given a black card for violating fair play.

And in the smoked up blue, this overfilled ashtray,

Egregiously dried up and wrinkled like shar-pei,

We saw a vast and threatening array

Of clouds sinister and grey

Devouring splendour of the day.

It sprinkled our appetizer with black caraway,

And falling short of expectations never got our hands on an entrée,

It viced the sky and feasted on its small flamboyant alleyway.

The whole bald shiny section had a cover of dark-haired toupee.

It didn’t fancy getting soaked so it put on a black beret.

Malicious storm has snared its pray,

Dazzled by lightning, deafened by the Jupiter’s Thursday

Who strikes the globe like a goombay.

Cold-blooded we fall victims to a vehement osprey,

Incurring wrath out of the way,

Raging in its complete heyday.

It had a message to relay.

The wind, the rain, the waves made their communiqué

Then publicized the lousy thing without delay.

Guess I was just in time for quite an awful matinee.

They circled us and danced a dizzy roundelay.

“I’ll smash you down come what may.

You are all ruined anyway.

If have the gall to challenge a skilled military attaché,

Your ego must be puffed-up like soufflé.

You raise the roof, attract attention mocking winter driving a presumptuous cabriolet.

Combining what is incompatible you’ll get a pattern blatant on your macramé.

Our clash will open you a path through my archway.

“You’ve picked a ball quite thick and obstinate for your croquet”.

Your wicked quest, your words you should unsay,

Or you’ll find your afterlife blasé.

Your task is blind while claims are pure hearsay.

You shouldn’t have gotten underway.

Another wretched rot for me to slay.

You, humans, are so outré.

Why walk along a carriageway?

Is it your common sense that takes an everlasting holiday?

Some utter foolishness is in your DNA.

You are coerced to walk in circles down an annular footway.

And in your search it’s your debacle that will make headway.

So you’ll sink down to the bottom like a large stingray.

One’s journey ends when passion hits a cay.

When there are no alignments on a ley.

When knowledge gained becomes passé.

When all the sweet dreams of the past become abhorrence of today.

Your judgement of deep-rooted matters by their surface is distrait.

Existence is a clever joke, all action is wordplay.

You’ve been in an unconscious haze from here till Tuesday.

Those dreams surreal under an impervious duvet…

I’d stake my life on it, you won’t make up leeway.

“Quit your ventriloquism, you, mangy popinjay.

I’m sick and tired of your deviant horseplay.

You are ubiquitous enough to know I’m not born yesterday.

But still you are a cripple who conveys ideas just the way they do it in a classical ballet.

Your biased notions are unable to perform even an amateur’s sashay.

I welcome detriment with my arms splay.

Of all the hails there hasn’t been a singular conge.

It greets me with evisceration while I face it with a “hey”.

No matter what the aftermath is, I’ll take it with “hurray!”

Its long accumulated fury finds an outlet through my spillway.

Is it the very evil that is shoaled in this venomous raceway?

If so, it’s the almighty bane of men that stands in my doorway…

No…You’re in my head, you’re ethereal as if you were a fay.

Your ravings are but ornaments of rage on my tranquil and silent appliqué.

My entity is decorated with rebellious inlay.

No matter how stiff you fix my thinking it’ll still be flyaway”.

“Now tell me how much do your convictions weigh?

One wouldn’t file a full dossier!

Your thoughts are unassailable, aren’t they?

They are against all regulations, they refute any folkway,

They serve your right, they won’t betray.

If you can’t stop, then there’ll be hell to pay!

Embarked hackneyed belief, en route to God knows what you are a stowaway.

Stay low lest they should throw you straight into some coarse, behind-the-bars coupe.

The serene state of yours it is that I --">