Baranetz

BARANETZ

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1)A motion

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Feels like an umbilical chord/ chaining my will to breathe into the ground/

Between "need to" and "want to"/ my fingernails now as razorblades/

Had to keep scratching, had to keep digging for pleasures/

In Heaven, the way Heaven looks from down here.

In Heaven, in a heaven of corpses, where every month is January.

Sweet and vicious/ like the mouth of an infant/ Without mercy/ like the words of a dead lover/ wearing the robe of wounds/

2)Nails of bitter truth

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I talked to her canines

It was more like a pantomime, than a conversation as we all reduce our insticts to understand.

She assured me, in all her ugliness, that they're coming.

And they're coming with nails of bitter truth.

She smiled and crawled away, her old carcass was a path once more,

and I dared not to follow it till noon.

When I stared at the face of my dead father

who was hanged from a tree like a fruit, I knew what I had to do.

I asked to carry his body in my arms

only to get assaulted by his lifeless stare

And then I knew I heard them coming/

And they were coming indeed,

with nails of bitter truth/

When I'm alone, and when I desire

the freedom to challenge my will to survive

I still hear them coming

with nails of bitter truth

3)Reflections of yourself

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These are the mouths that chew,

that consume your passion and replace it with broken-jaw messiahs,

These are the shrouds of youth,

that cover past experience with the cement robes of mistakes,

These are the sparrows of autumn,

with their fertile suits of nothingness, an empty core of lost self-respect,

These are just fragments of you,

of your own inaccuracy to feel the world around your

Because/ to feel/ is another piece of action/

never learnt/ from those who breed/ the desire/ to be/

expected/ or maybe/ loved/ by the faceless deities/

that turn echoes/ into sand/ and tar/ into populations/

Is this how you want to die?/ then perish/ but remember/

that every second that passed/ in your miserable/ gray cell/

that you call/ every day routine/ we were beside you/

and every time/ you chose to sacrifice/ yet another piece of your heart/

in the altar/ of self-destructive/ consumerism/ we were under the blade/ as well/

staring at your self degradation/ in rage, a rage/ that in reality was yours/

4)Disciples of the Borometz

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Somewhere, in the middle of nowhere, where all life lies trapped in a jar of neglect/

You wait for your ambitions to move/

but your umbilical chord still lies nailed to the ground/

Somewhere, in the middle of nowhere, where all life lies frozen and abandoned/

In January pastures/ I still walk with them/

with nails of bitter truth, as well/