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Vika
Posts tagged ‘love’
Blow kiss, fire a gun
All we need is someone to lean on
Do you recall, not long ago
We would walk on the sidewalk?
Innocent, remember?
All we did was care for each other
But the night was warm
We were bold and young
All around, the wind blows
We would only hold on to let go
What will we do when we get old?
Will we walk down the same road?
Will you be there by my side?
Standing strong as the waves roll over
Major Lazer feat. MØ – Lean On
| Ёлки палки смешались с грязью.. Ванна набрана третий день. , погадай на руке мне бритвой , новогодняя моя тень. По раздавленным, по ухабам, талоснежной могильной мглы, Я гроб собственный нёс устало не вытаскивая иглы. не разбрасывая надежды, не раскалывая новогодних шаров, я как порванная одежда на шалаве пляшущей для ментов. Стервенелый пёс на закваске, ебануто влюблённый поэт, коронованный в своей маске ,от больничной кареты в след . От тюремного чая Майский и от морга где тишина, новый год мне сделает райским в храме выпивший старшина. И колючей сосны под венку и со ста до нуля в метель. И больничную ту постельку и с артерии кровь потерь. Мама спрятала меня в подарке, под ночнушками в старом шкафу . Подарила меня мне в закладке и на пропись подложки в графу Поднесет к губам тихо палец и шепнет раздевайся урод, Я твой порваный школьный ранец ты мой любящий новый год. | Fir trees, sticks — all mixed with mud. The bath’s been steaming three days straight. Tell my fortune: razor, blood — My New Year’s shadow, my dark fate. Over ruts, over crushed debris, Through thaw-snow, grave-dark, deep and vast — I dragged my own coffin tiredly, Not pulling needles out, not holding fast, Not smashing any Christmas balls — just passed. I’m like torn clothes on a whore Dancing for the cops with a nasty grin. A rabid dog on sourdough starter’s core, A poet sick with love within, Still crowned inside his mask of tin, Trailing the ambulance’s track so thin — May prison tea, The morgue where silence holds its breath. New Year will make a saint of me In the temple where a drunk sergeant deals out death. A spiny pine branch under the wreath’s debris, And from a hundred down to zero in the blizzard’s sheath. And that hospital bed, And the artery’s blood of loss. Mom hid me in a gift — unsaid, Under nightgowns. She gave me to myself as a drug to toss, As a scribble in a ledger’s cross. She’ll bring a finger to her lips, Whisper: undress, you freak. I’m your torn school backpack’s ripped-out strips, You’re my loving New Year, my peak. |
Translation by DeepSeek and me
Confucius’s fundamental idea was “ren\jin” 仁 – humanity, kindness. And its essence is that you need to think of others more than of yourself. This resonated with me, and I remembered the words of one christian monk: that you should do good without expecting gratitude from people, that you should do good not for the sake of thanks, but for God, and God\Karma will repay you.
