Smoke

Размазать насилье в убогих законах
(Сильна репрессивная в оных лишь часть),
Повсюду наставить жестоких препонов —
Так правит толпой НЕЗАКОННАЯ власть.


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They smear their violence in pitiful laws,
Where only repression is written with force.
They set up cruel and merciless flaws—
Thus rules the ILLEGITIMATE source.



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Metamorphosis of Imagination

The neighbor’s house was set ablaze—
A minor thing, yet brings delight.
Missed the scam in time to pay—
How disgraceful! Serves him right.

My son is young but drinks and smokes,
And chases girls without regret.
He follows me—well, that's no joke—
No better role model he's met.

I beat my wife—now she won’t nag,
No more whining, no more fights.
I'll drink life’s poison to the dregs—
No guilt, no sorrow, no insight.



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Smoke

Mediocrity’s hereditary—
For most, it is their fate.
To break the chains is scary,
So slaves just bow and wait.

They dare not take decisions,
Believe the lies they hear.
They live in self-delusion,
Deceit their only sphere.

They lie to self much deeper
Than to the world outside.
The honest grow much weaker—
Like smoke, the land subsides.

And when the smoke is scattered,
A prison will arise.
For courage never mattered,
There’ll only be their cries.

Too late to seek revival,
Too late to stand and fight...
And life’s grotesque survival
Has lost its will to Light.



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Sheeplevirus 2020

A nation strong—
Or just a herd?
The truth will dawn—
Recall that year!



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A Race of Rogues

The peloton is fierce and tight,
A ruthless, cunning game.
If you are there—then ride it right,
Break off and cheat for fame.



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The World Upside Down

We “advance” by stepping backward,
“Teach” while echoing the lies.
In this twisted, mad disaster,
Souls are trapped—no hope survives.

Fear is raging, lies grow bolder,
Treachery's a daily chore.
This infernal world smolders—
Soon it won’t exist no more.

Through cataclysms, fascist madness
Meets the fate it’s running to.
Days of darkness, days of sadness—
Satan’s reign is fading too.



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From the Pen...

At dawn, the sheep all march away,
To work, like every day before.
They fail to see—their world’s in chains,
That fascism rules them more and more.

If they knew, they’d break the cycle,
Stop the grind and change their fate.
Build new lives, new ways of thinking,
Talk, unite—before’s too late.

Self-sufficient, strong, informed,
Not deceived by state-run lies.
But tell them this—they'll scoff, ignore,
And rush to lunch with empty eyes!



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The Rattle of Lies

A rattle shakes from birth to gray, 
For silence rots the fool away. 
He cannot bear a world so still, 
So lies must echo, loud and shrill. 

Parents lie, and "schools" deceive, 
To mask the chains we can’t unweave. 
The media feeds the grand deceit— 
And sheep just listen, nod, repeat. 

A few who see, through years and strife, 
Could never wake the herd to life. 
Corruption thrives, and all obey— 
They crave the lies, they beg to stay. 

This twisted world, built up in fraud, 
Will soon collapse beneath its load. 
And when the bottom breaks apart, 
The filth will flood—a work of art! 

Yet fools will cheer, in blind embrace, 
And call it "heaven’s promised place." 
Such is the fate they choose to prize, 
If joy still rattles, built on lies... 



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Breakaway!

In the race, so fine and bold,
You must break through the air’s thick wall.
If your body rings like gold,
You’ll break away and heed the call.

Light as air, you’ll climb the hills,
And then press forward, swift and free.
No shame in daring, no hard thrills—
The boldest riders, highest we.

In this grim life, take the lead,
Apply this trick, and break the chains.
They’ll not catch you, though they plead,
For most will crawl through dirt and stains.

To escape decay, break away,
Find freedom when the road’s too tight.
Lonely souls will find their way,
While lies and sludge consume the night.



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Pseudo-Science

Mathematics, static and cold,
Describes a world that's far too small.
The pragmatists march, loud and bold,
In pseudo-science, they rule it all.

With fabrications, lies, and plays,
They prop up the grand deceit.
In every trick, the truth decays—
The common goal is lies they feed.



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The Metropolitan

The archbishop keeps a watchful eye,
He checks on priests as they pass by.
How smoothly each one spins a lie—
The seeds of Satanism grow high.





--- Total 12 poems. ---