Sunday, July 6, 2014

Ross Vassilev- Two Poems

at the end

when the high noon of humanity
is forgotten

when all that's left of their shit-stupidness
is dim fading memories

when the sun turns red
before the endless summer night
of the Siddhas

at the end
there will only be left
the Buddha-soul:




like a blossom in the eye of a God.


if I could play guitar
I'd sing a sad, sad, song
for all the fiery red anarchists
of yesteryear
who threw bombs at the police in alleys
assassinated kings and presidents
and drew funny little cartoons
about hanging the Pope
all those lost souls
raging with idealism
now forgotten as ferns
in this modern world of McDonald's
and Godzilla remakes
all those poor anarchists
each with a heart bigger than
all of Wall Street
each and every one
crushed under the boots
of the Bolsheviks
or hanged
after the police opened fire
on each other
at Haymarket Square
all of them murdered
while the Gods marched
in lock-step with the fascists
it's all so sad
too sad to remember
or write about
as the 1% finish the job
they started

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