Max Fomitchev-Zamilov, Poetry

Максим Фомичёв-Замилов, поэзия

This planet is an asylum for insane.

There is no other place
where so much love
begets so much destruction.

There is no other place
where seas are full of tears.
There is no other place
where wind is made of sighs.

There is no other place
like home!

The joke is on me,
for I am stranded here
with all the other patients.

The joke is on me,
for I am born
to live my life with humans.

The joke is on me,
but nobody’s laughing.
The fool is sad today,
and sour are his jests.

The joke is on me…

The irony does not escape me,
the hell will pass for paradise at times.

But maybe there is a reason
for our collective plight?

In jail the guards are prisoners as well,
they cannot leave these walls
without forfeiting their lives.

We are all confined,
the rest is an illusion.
The only choice – which side of the divide?
But misery is all the same.

But why?

We are more equal
than we think or we appear.
We are more free than
we may realize.

We write the rules
and choose to follow them.

Perhaps it’s time for a rewrite?

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