12 poems

Without the Crown of Thorns

The measure of belief, submission,
Fear, decay, and superstition
Changes as the ages turn.
Darkness fools us, makes us learn
How to let the Soul be burned,
Crushed to dust by every scheme.
Scoundrels cheer the “New” regime.

“Lords” today, “comrades” then—
Different masks, the same old men.
Countries turned to zoos of doom,
Overthrown by CowID’s gloom.
Those were days when few were clean—
Most were scoundrels on the scene.

Then the war was stopped at once—
Another trick of Hell’s advance:
The way the creatures of the Pit
Test the weak and bury it.
“Only sick men kill their kin”—
Yet the media’s roaring din
Will make “normal” out of all,
Even what should shock us all.

The measure of belief, submission,
Fear, decay, and superstition
Now has gone beyond the scale.
Generation after generation
Finishes the road to degradation.
What comes next? The Digital Camp—
Lies and terror, murk and damp.

A brand-new Camp, a digital cage
For minds crippled by the age—
Worldwide, sealed and fortress-strong,
Built for those who’ve followed wrong.
Fight against the spreading blight:
Guard your Soul with all your might.

Stand your ground and to the end—
No false crown for you, my friend:
No “holy” wreath, no liar’s crown,
No borrowed glory handed down.

War is waged with “ideas” now—
And with them we have reached the low.
Raise the Word, let Truth revive;
Expose each lie that stays alive.

Maybe all you do seems small,
Maybe it’s a drop—that’s all.
Still, without the crown, you’ll see
The Face of what you used to be—
Your primordial, living form,
The Soul that rose before the storm.

Stand against the Evil’s reign:
Keep the Light alive through pain.



---------------------



A Cat’s Great Happiness

A cat’s great joy is bright and sweet—
But human beings spoil the treat.
No “master” can come rushing in,
Or shut the whole world down for him,
When black as night he roams around
And claims the whole backyard as ground.

My tiger-striped tomcat today
Goes out, comes in, then goes away.
He eats his fill, then out once more—
Through yard and garden, door to door.
And still my heart is gripped with pain:
For dangers lurk in every lane—

A sea of fools! A world gone mad!
And every fool’s a danger, bad.



---------------------



At Winter’s End

At Winter’s end, there’s no green grass,
Our gloomy minds just sigh and pass.
We “poets” plant a garden—words,
Where every verse grows beasts and birds.
And readers cheer, delighted too:
A perfect garden—
A perfect zoo!



---------------------



Learn to Bite Your Tongue

Learn from childhood, keep it near—
That handy skill to hold your fear.
In this corrupt and crooked land,
You’re just a tool at someone’s hand.
Forget to keep your mouth in check—
The cops will teach you what comes next.



---------------------



“Defense” of a Half-Fatherland

After the muzzles, I won’t go
To charge—or stand and “guard” the show.
On either side, the bastards lie:
Their world is drunk on its own lie.



---------------------



To Rhyme, Not Rot

No slang to spout,
No “truth” to shout,
No work to slave,
No dreams to crave,
No waiting round—
Just write my verse
To dodge the curse.

For life without rhyme
Is suffering all the time:
Lies, murk, and fright—
A slaughterhouse night.



---------------------



The Self-Generating Cycle

A child from the cradle,
In a crowd foul and fabled.
His shield is too thin—
The rot settles in.

A bastard, a fool,
Soon submits to the rule:
A slave to fear,
To lies ringing near.

And once he is broken,
The pattern is spoken:
He drags down the tender,
The sensitive, slender—

Down into the mire,
Into lies, fear, and fire.
Thus each ruined soul
Helps the next lose control.



---------------------



Boredom, Torment, Pseudo-Life

Boredom and torment—this fake life!
If you’re no bitch, then blaze and bite!
The slugs won’t understand your flame;
They crawl ahead, then die the same.

They’ll call that journey “History,”
A grand and glorious mystery—
While some fake scholar, smug and sly,
Will twist the truth and tell you why.



---------------------



The “Meaning” of Pseudo-Life

— Is there a meaning to this life?
— Not a bit. Not worth a dime!
— Eat your gruel and don’t ask why:
Bones are Lies, and Fear is thin.

In this Hell, there’s nothing to win—
Nothing worth the striving, none.
Everything else is what fools dream:
They call the darkness something else.



---------------------



Order on Paper, Fascism in Hearts

Order on paper, fascism in hearts—
Not “order” built by marching crowds.
We always crush those who resist:
Paper! The howl! The media’s mist!

When they refuse to swallow lies,
When suddenly they wake and rise,
We brand their waking as a myth—
Their fate is still to bend beneath.



---------------------



The Volga Flows

The Volga flows along.
They prop the MADNESS strong.
The river reaches Caspian blue—
The MADNESS finds “happiness” too.



---------------------



Megatons of Lies

Bluntly, roughly, without shame,
These beasts unleash a megaton rain—
Megatons of combat lies,
Waging war on Reason’s eyes.

To remain yourself in the Dark
Is hard when the media dogs bark.
Their filthy howl, their endless din—
Leaves little room for Truth within.