Ode to Project Management Software


Am I or am I not a project manager? That is the question.

To manage project that I am given,

Or let it slip and fall without struggle?

Who gives a damn about dropping ball

When manager decides who’s running assay?

Isn’t that a quandary? Who makes decisions ‘bout stuff I’m doing,

Has privilege distributing resources,

Assigning work and changing project leaders?

What helps me manage project better, when project isn’t mine?

Oh, really? It isn’t mine? The answer’s here. It’s really in possession

Of power to do what needed done. And that alone’s enough

To care, to take a notice, to have an answer when somebody’s asking

By having all recorded in a program, which is designed to help somebody like me.

The answer’s easy: try and prosper…


С собою расставаясь…

С собою расставаясь, я всё себе простил.
Но каждый день я каюсь, что я себя забыл.
Что позабыл дорогу я в свой родимый дом,
Что со своим порогом я больше не знаком.

Что я с собой на кухне уже не пошучу.
Себя совсем больного не повезу к врачу.
Но всё же как услышу, что в дверь раздался стук,
В груди всё замирает: “А может быть, а вдруг…”

Just Tell Me by Arthur Chubur

Tell me, what are you seeking?
At night to be quietly sleeping?
Each day to be just like another?
It’s foreign to me, but I’ll do it, alright?
I will even say for you, “black is white.”
Just hint and I will go farther.

One word and I‘ll shave my beard
I’ll renounce the dust and field.
You are my key, just lock me away.
For you, I will kill my song.
I’ll retire my dreams bong,
And my crazy lifestyle with hurray.

The ice of the malice will never thaw.
One word and I’ll never defend as before
The truth and become like all others.
My hands will abandon guitar
My soul will move to Qatar
And I’ll sell my uncle and brothers.

I’ll never attempt breaking walls with my head.
I’ll lie from the stage and won’t even turn read.
Will never admit to be wrong.
I will lie through my teeth,
I won’t care who’s beneath.
And may even be well very long

Or maybe, I’ll start drinking again
Start partying in disdain,
And will split my guitar in three.
And the life will become so grey
I’ll do it for you, just say.
But what will remain of me?

(Translated by Albert Glozman)