Русский паркур / Russian parkour

Horizontal connections,
Vertical stems,
Through life’s imperfections
Be straight to the end.
The way of a man
Is an intricate puzzle.
You can do what you can,
Or do what you must.

While the planet is turning,

Sun-dials want no repair.
A child put in corner
Is a man in despair.
Silence and voices
Form parallel lines.
Everyday choices
Form our lives.

If parallel feelings

Suddenly cross,
She becomes his
And he becomes hers.
A decision to part,
Perpendicular turn,
Draws a line on the heart,
Gives a lesson to learn.

It is all in the lines

Of your palms to be read.
Communion wine,
Communion bread.
The Da Vinci in you,
Madonna or Jesus —
You must get a clue
What your own stem is.

Your destiny waits

For you to fulfill it.
Unholy saints
Roll down the hill.
Vertical climbs
And falls are what counts,
And so are the lines
Of Sermon on the Mount.

Беспризорники

Полузабытые, полулюбимые
Дети новой страны;
Полупропавшие, полузастрявшие
В чаще семейной нужды.

Недолюбившие, недоигравшие

Матери и отцы;
Недосмотревшие и недодавшие
Родители-сорванцы!

Полуподросшие, полупонявшие

Отпрыски соцсети:
Получитавшие и получтящие
Предания старины.

Переигравшие, перегулявшие

Матери и отцы;
Перепредавшие, перепродавшие
Родители-сорванцы!

Полуработники, полупреступники —

Взрослые дети страны:
Новые-старые полулюбящие
Матери и отцы!

Кто равнодушные, кто малодушные,

Новые люди страны:
Жертвы минувшего, горе грядущего —
Бедные дети страны!

Generation-errant

We are the children neglected
By our new mother-land,
From her heart disconnected,
We hold up beggars’ hands.

Our parents stopped their games

When they were half-way through.
Half-hearted love they gave
Was all the love we knew.

We now half-understand

The half-truth in the books.
Half-connected to our land,
We’re connected to Facebook.

Our parents took up games

To catch up time they lost,
They sold our land, and name,
And everything that cost.

We get some love, we do some work,

But to a certain limit.
The things we do and love get burked.
And so gets our spirit.

Half-spirited, we still drag on

From our past and parents
Into the future of our sons,
A generation-errant.

Постмодерн