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Ylzm Apr 26
May Putin be crushed and his nuclear threat exposed an empty bluff
May Russians see themselves the true Nazis
And in true need of salvation than Ukrainians ever were
May the shattered save the mighty and the mighty serve the victor
Eslam Dabank Apr 23
Sirens, ballads of anguish are singing, ears are ringing, 
     Our nightingale is shrieking, and children are clinging.
Our Kalyna is red, but wrapped in blood now, not love, 
     From the massacres aeroplanes bring from far above.

My uncle, enters the now upside-down house of his, 
     “Welcome”, with a phoney grin, and wariness he says. 
The house holding memories is now clogged rubble, 
    In the land that shall never greet occupiers or trouble.

His daughter's dreams shattered, for the reverie of filth, 
     It matters not; the nation of his deserves blood spilth, 
We deserve not peace, but the delusions of a hag pass, 
     May he rest in peace, along with the delusion he has.

My mother may never hear the raindrops fall again;
     Missiles seal ears with noise, and the death of men. 
The men, women and children, who will lead us all, 
     Through scorched fields with whispers old and small.

She is a hairdresser, she might braid hair for the fun, 
     But other mothers, braid the hairs of daughters gone, 
They keep them safe under a pillow where they smell, 
     The warmth of days before the dictator's missiles fell.

Red and black are the only colours they pervaded here, 
    They wish for our colours to diminish and spring adhere, 
But beauty routs the devil of ugliness and his conceit;
    Our colours saturate our resistance, painting your defeat.

They shall not sprout in our fields, like poisonous herbs, 
     They "rescue" us, but the gunshots my brother disturbs, 
We did one day exchange our dreams for a pistol facing - 
     Facing the bear who is destruction, within embracing. 

Blood accumulated in heaps on the sleeves of killers, 
    Like a marvel detested in a chapter of stained thrillers.  
But thriller this is not, it is lives of the innocent lost;
    He plays chess in reality, after a coin he has tossed. 
Mothers, daughters, sons and fathers are everyday slain, 
     but spring soars today, prevails tomorrow - in Ukraine.
This poem was inspired by a video I recieved from my uncle, who entered his house for the first time after fleeing it to join the Ukrainian army with a fake smile, saying "welcome! Welcome, Oh God!" - the Oh God was a reaction to the rubble and the wreckage he found. His family had to flee to another region as well.
It was not true, the sky was pouring flood.
It was true and all around with tearing blood.

He was dying next to rusted royal region.
His father frozen the anguish to painful tragedy.
Maybe April light will exhaust.
His heart with its cruel.
Ray, removed his key to intuitive rude.

In this part of the story he was the one who
Dies, the only one, and he died in regretful
Prove Tsar’s emotion. He with Love, in fire and blood.
There are no time to farewell for Russia’s Tsar.  

And we don't know Russia and the Russian Tsar
never did lie to each other.

(Because there’s history, and then there’s art, patterns rotate.)
Regarding the Repin’s “Ivan the Terrible, we look at the Patterns in the theme of modernity
They were human once, it is said.
Now they torture the living
And abandon their dead.
Like their predecessors
Of the same name,
Destruction is their pleasure
And killing their game.

Their Dark Lord sits upon his throne
In Sochi, where his mind dwells alone.
To unite all, under his dark reign,
As subjects, or slaves—to Him, all the same.
No longer in Thangorodrim does He dwell.
He rules now from Moscow, and seeks
an Empire of Hell.

Hell is created
By the ORCS whom he orders.
Their blood lust to be sated
Far beyond  Russia’s borders.
Destruction they rain from the skies above
On people who must flee
From all that they love.

They were human once,
And perhaps even Him.
Now they are beyond
The world’s Creation
And we call on Varda
To vanquish him.
The Shadow always takes another form and rises again.
Anais Vionet Mar 22
For the last five hundred years, posh “society,” is where the wealthiest and most influential people in the world mingled, inter-married and conducted business. If you’ve ever watched “Downton Abbey”, “The Gilded Age” or even “Crazy Rich Asians” you’ll know what I mean.

Maslow’s hierarchy of needs - a psychological pyramid that describes human fulfillment - states that part of our human nature (once your basic needs are met) is the desire to attain social position. Having mere wealth is just not enough once you are in the top levels of achievement.

In the 1970’s Arab money started pouring into the west. Arab petro-dollars bought swaths of land in the UK, in London and New York. The Arabs dazzled everyone with their wealth and bling but they never penetrated posh society.

Then in the 90s the second, Asian wave, of new wealth washed eastward and they had a bit more success in society. But starting about 20 years after the fall of the Soviet Union, Russians started coming to the west with new money to invest - in the UK, in particular.

Russia became the billionaire capital of the world, oligarchs were everywhere buying anything not nailed down and eventually trying to insinuate themselves into posh “society”. Tatler (THE magazine of society) even began publishing a Russian version. If you were a wealthy Russian, you were moving up. By 2022, they weren’t too far from the edge of REAL success.

That’s what evaporated three weeks ago - with the invasion of Ukraine - Russia’s luxury infrastructure and their hopes of acceptance into posh society. Gucci, Chanel, Hermès, Dior, Apple and Tatler (just to name a few luxury brands) have left Russia to rot. If you’re Russian now, the chances of being admitted into posh society are gone for the next 20 years - at least.

You may say “so what?” Well, one way a dictator holds onto power is through mercantile largess. The granting of rights within the Russian sphere of influence - to control and distribute goods and services - is how oligarchs are created. The support of these oligarchs is important and transactional.

A man with a 100-million dollar yacht - looking at what chunks of their wealth may well be confiscated in the west - or lost to the Ruble’s collapse - could easily offer life-changing wealth to any henchman willing to end Putin one way or another.

Will this happen? I don’t know. But this is the system they’ve set up for themselves.
BLT word of the day challenge: henchman: a trusted follower who performs illegal tasks for a powerful person.
Missile Ways
What's up the sky and the Russian planes?
Before they're splashed by Stinger missiles
Whoosh! Missile away go go go **** a jet
Or chopper bring it down in the water
Let the crew freeze or drown
Some burn alive or get killed in the crash
How dare they invade Ukraine!
Teach them all a lesson forever
Some things not to be forgotten
Like Duncan in Dune 2021 die superbly
Never surrender no matter what
This is how Ukraine is now
No matter what happens
Ukraine wins Russia loses
Splashed enemy aircraft
Dead aircrew Putin kaput
Tupolev 141 Drone
Those old drones and planes and choppers all sat there just waiting to fly to war. Polish the metal fuel them up kick the tires away they go. No crew just needed just a memory of flight. Something part of their fabric like their wings or engine. A thing part spirit part elemental that exists beyond human comprehension though we built the machines.

Now they're ready to go almost a race of beings from elsewhere. Maybe an alien intelligence possessed them to make them fly. Let them get even with the Russian soldiers and leaders. For violating Ukraine and other areas out of their realm.

Of course they're just machines and vehicles. Not alive or able to fly alone. But why are their parking bays and taxi strips and museum display areas now empty? Where did the drones choppers and planes go? Of to Russia to fight bomb **** ram obliterate them till victory is here for the good guys.
In Silence
The English ex SAS Special Forces member went to the Ukraine to fight. He travelled light and took just a small back pack and a head full of skills. A gun was a gun and a bayonet a bayonet. He was trained to use most things as weapon especially military articles.

He decided to go to the Ukraine after the Russians invaded proper in early 2022. The Ukrainian Army took him to a holding facility where they vetted him. This took three days. Included was basic close combat skills and weapons use.

He excelled and was given a job, being sent to a forward artillery position with a dozen other foreign troops to protect it. The SAS man was in charge and most men and the single girl spoke English. All understood military commands and signals. All were veterans from either conscript or professional armies.

Each was here for their own reasons and all disliked either what Russia had done or Russians themselves. The English SAS member had killed several Muslim terrorists from Daesh and al Qaeda in Iraq and Afghanistan. Now he looked forward to fighting and killing some Russians, officers if possible. After being in the Ukraine six days he was on the front line leading his first patrol. This was better than being a bouncer in a Manchester night club!

The SAS guy ordered his men to only use bayonets as they silently crept to a Russian fox hole a mile away. He wanted blood and the rush of combat, of killing. There was the trench and a single sentry, asleep. He would knife him himself. Then his squad would ****** the rest and take back any weapons, maps or documents. He spoke four languages including Russian. Any Intel was good for his bosses though. Here we go! There’s the sleeping sentry. Gently now, he must die in silence…
hiraeth Mar 20
there's poetry in watching a war go on over tik tok live
thousands of miles away fighting to survive

there's poetry in hashtag calls for help
sending prayers for those running with nothing but rags

there's poetry in arguing on how to assign the blame
rather than using that energy to devise ways to help

there's poetry in finding all the wrong focuses
forgetting that what's happening on TV
and what we're watching on tiktok
and what the memes are parodying

is all real.
is not a fiction.
is not a dystopian fantasy.

there are people dying
and we ponder who to blame more often than we ponder how to help

i think there's poetry in that
find ways to help rather than ways to gossip
Carlo C Gomez Mar 17
A room lives in Zoria
And also the trees
At a critical distance
She seeks their shelter
An abiding solace
To wash free
To swim sea
Who can blame
The suffering of her stream
Whether it be
A time for hanging on
Or a time for passing
Let the waters come
And overtake her
Flooding her with
Safeguarding arms

For those suffering in Ukraine
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