four-eyed cat

Страна : Голландия

Кирилл Сазонов. Мне 26 лет, родился в маленькой , дождливой Голландии в русско- говорящей семье. Трижды поступал в высшие учебные заведения – интернациональный бизнеc и экономика ,международные отношения и программирование, – и также регулярно бросал учебу. Основал фирму – виртуальная платформа криптовалюты. Разрабатываю свою видео-игру, пишу прозу стихи и музыку. Короче, еще молодой, предприимчивый человек без официальногo подтверждения в виде диплома. Пожалуй и все, но мне кажется, что прочитав мои стихи, рассказ и роман, вы больше узнаете и поймете меня.

Country : Netherlands

My name is Kyrill Sazonov. I am a 26-year old writer, born in the rainy Netherlands to a Russian-speaking family. During my life, I’ve made a few turns here and there, studying at three different faculties: International Business & Management Studies, European Studies & IT, dropping out of all three. Eventually, I found a firm that specializes in using a stable cryptocurrency (stablecoin) as an escrow method. I am currently also developing an online video game, while casually writing prose, poetry & music. In short, I’m a young, maverick entrepreneur. I hope that after reading my poetry, novel and story, you will find more about who I am as a person and what I stand for.

Отрывок из сборника стихотворений

            Sinful Sonnet

 

Courtesans and concubines

pristine ladies on neon signs

performing with pink panache

indulging in pleasures of flesh

a rose-scented soft temptation

invoking desire and infatuation

crimson lights and skin like satin

inviting to a realm of forbidden passion

where sirens and succubae

sing songs that satisfy

docile demons and superficial saints

peculiar clients with specific tastes

no judgements in our den of delights

only leisure and unforgettable nights

 

Wanderlust

Remind me of the sea kissing the coast of Algiers

Where tides are soft and winds but fierce

On a road to Morocco, past the strait of Gibraltar

Where the trip to Casablanca didn’t halt her

 

From Alps nestling Basil to Atlas holding Jbel Ayachi

In a plane over the Alboran and Tyrrhenian Sea

Spring in Minsk before  summer in Warschau

Soar through Kiev’s autumn, then winter in Moscow

 

Blink the Sahara’s eye towards the Aral Sea

To dust and draught in sands of bygone glory.

Shelter found eastward in the marble oasis of Ashgabat.

And brief respite in cloudlike white akin to Masqat.

 

Like Rome or Florence, his Coliseum or her Sistine

Never to stay long, Mozambique followed Argentine

Unchained from Peru and the Chilean hills of Santiago

To concrete spires sprouting out of Seattle and Chicago

 

A skyline lute’s string oscillates into an oriental song

Its harmonious melody chased from Beijing to Hong Kong

Though I might’ve confused myself with Singapore,

Not Bangkok nor Seoul, but possibly Kuala Lumpur.

 

Holding your parting gift from the vineyards in Roubaix;

A vermillion memory engraved by your lips’ embrace

Leaving my wayward wish that you’ll snap free from peregrine

So I can finally open up my arms for you at the gates of Berlin.

 

–          Black Hole

born from a cosmic cradle,

collapsed under the gaze

of a million demanding stars.

dreams and expectations crushed

by bending their rules of nature.

Now it all revolves around me,

not them, us, nor you,

only I in singularity.

 

–          King of the Hill

He sits on a throne;

a green and mounded hill.

a velvety yellow crown

on a cat without teeth.

Waves are gently blown

on a carpet of grass,

in the palace of nature.

as if a royal envoy

brings forth a message:

“summer has come,

king Dandelion.”

 

–          Game of Fate

Every week a card is played,
four suits as seasons tell;
seers seeking signs and omens
for soldiers gambling their lives.
Summer hearts bleed for a king’s ideology,
red queens of winter and blood diamonds. 
Spring spades digging trenches and graves of war
for infantry boys, bearing

black clubs, lances and rifles as they fall.
causality cuts lines in fate,

making nobles and commoners equal

in the games of war they partake;

All play with the hand they’re dealt,

only some see the deck shuffled again.

 

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