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Safana Dec 14
We are safe.
Despite that,
The insurgency visited us.
Under our suckaway are *****.
Let us take what belongs to us, not you

Stay underneath your trees.
Fall asleep on its fallen leaves.

Let our rivers flow
Make our throat moist
Please

Over 200 million people are starving.
Enough is enough!
Indirect slavery is enough.

France in Nigeria's North
Tetiana Dec 13
Lie down, soldier, lie down
Let the field lull you
You will become a spirit here
You will protect the land
And never leave descendants in evil.

Fly, soldier, fly:
You are free in heaven forever
Appear in thoughts, sanctify our will
And all of us, so just sever.

Let them fly, soldier
Songs in the abyss to you -
let them sound more bolder
let them tell what is true.

Lie down, soldier, sleep,
May you dream of well-being.

Happy and free
Fly with the gods
May you sleep happily.
Tetiana Dec 13
Втома
мене долає.
Так хочеться здатись

Вагома
причина для того щоб здатись.
Знайома
всім думка з'явилась - пора попрощатись.
Зусилля всі марні, і все не виходить як думалось всім.

Втома
знебарвлює дні, знецінює смак і пригоди життя і виходить все так, що втрачається сенс не спинятись.

Кому,
не крапку поставлю після цих всіх напруг, недоспаних ночей і думок про нарешті призи за заслуги.

Судома
зводить щелепи і так хочеться від всієї душі прокричатись і закинути все, тихо здатись.

Шкода
часу і сил, шкода мрій бо виходить пусті вони всі, не судилось їм всім позбуватись.

Втома:
не дозволю я їй надламати мене, запріснити життя, відмовчатись.

Втома:
лиш тайм аут візьму, відісплюсь, відлежусь і в роботі піду оживати.
An original poem Fatigue, translated version is on my page.
Valentin Eni Dec 12
Once,
they played in yards,
stick swords and plastic guns,
mud-streaked faces,
laughing in the sun —
their joy alive, their hearts still warm.
they built forts from blankets,
imagined war as a game,
their laughter ringing bright —

But now —
Helmets cage hollow skulls,
dead eyes made of cold glass,
stone faces locked in a grimace,
marching in perfect sync,
a death-walk of men who forgot how to live,
boots crunching dreams into dust.

This is not a game.

Their hands now, hideous hands,
clench steel that tears mothers open,
splits children’s laughter into screams,
fingers like claws on triggers,
twitching with mechanical precision.

They sow death like seeds,
but nothing blooms —
only fields of twisted bodies,
limbs splayed like broken dolls,
smoke spiralling into the sky,
a sky that they pretend not to see.

This is not a game.

A little girl clutches a doll’s arm,
her brother’s blood still warm on her cheeks,
while the soldiers, these shattered souls,
paint walls with terror —
a grotesque mural of hate and ruin.

They move like zombies,
flesh wrapped in cold commands,
feet dragging through ashes of innocence,
mouths silent, eyes empty,
the light inside them
long since extinguished.

Flesh burns.
Buildings crumble.
Old mothers wail, their voices
splitting the sky —
cries of grief-torn ghosts,
pleas unheard by machines,
hearts replaced by circuits,
thoughts reduced to orders.

I see them.
I hate them.

Machines wrapped in flesh,
monsters programmed to ****.

They were children once —
soft, human, whole —
but they chose this path.

Now, they trudge through fields of ruin,
crushing love beneath their heels,
dragging the stench of death behind them.

A world devoured by horror.
Glass eyes blink,
and with each blink,
another life shatters.

It’s blood on their hands,
it’s death in the air.

This is not a game anymore.
I created a song using Suno AI. If you’re interested, please follow the link. Does anyone know how to make links clickable?

https://suno.com/song/037ea46b-8bc4-4cfa-aae0-edfff8f27333
egg hot pot Dec 11
war
is it worth
children losing homes
mothers losing children
children loosing friends
is it worth all the red
all the hunger
all the sorrow
just for some pieces of land
f Dec 9
I lost my pens and papers
my notebook was lost to time and war
they are scattered somewhere
in my broken home
ink dried, pages ripped apart
by the winds or by the soldiers 
i'll never know  
they mistook my literature for laughter
and my house for shelter
don't find comfort in my bed
collect your warmth somewhere else
we may share blood but never history
for my story is written in black ink, not red
free my people and my country.
I stay with the beast
Until the morn comes
When the great sun will
Lay bare his carcass
Torn by vultures
Eyes beady, glass beads in a kaleidoscope

I see its fangs
How sharp your teeth are, mister!
All the better, all the better…

Through its gaping neck
And the bullet hole in my head
I am granted a fleeting vista
Of light – its majestic stride
Wrought in dark steel

Alexander Nevsky grins
From its bottomless maw
Fire! Danger! Season!
We were destined, destined,
Destined…for,
For – greatness!
Title taken from Laibach's Vojna Poema.
Emma Dec 8
They run,
through streets that scream of bomb smoke and shattered bone,
their shadows swallowed by the black of hijabs,
a mother swaddles her babe, her heartbeat louder than the guns.

Blood whispers its story
on trembling hands—whose hands?
Hers, his, the boy too small to carry grief,
but already has it, pressed like a kiss on his brow.

How long?
How long before the dream of faces turns to ash?
Before names become nothing more than echoes
sung to the fleeing, like lullabies of loss?

The gun is no longer an object;
it is an extension of them, fused to flesh,
its weight the weight of survival,
its promise another lie whispered to the children.

They run,
but the streets do not let go.
The ruins hold their breath,
cradle them in decay,
and ask, "How much longer?"

The answer—
silent, like the graves they leave behind.
It blew in off the sea

It went out on a limb

And broke the olive branch

Do you hear the wind through the hair of revolution

--black raven hair--

Bone straight and frayed

The split ends of society forging separate paths

Progression at their tips, regression in their roots

It makes a sound akin to the back of an old haunted house settling

It wandered here in due season

It's about to be cut short

It's about to be swept away
Tetiana Dec 7
It had to be summer and harvest
but time that had come is the hardest
long winter has come,
I feel like I'm numb.

These days would be a vacation,
but millions will never return,
they wanted for me isolation
but my borders expand.

They fired at us,
but phoenix reborn,
no sense to discuss
mother tongue.

They plucked our flowers
"forbade" us to live,
our scatter through world now empowers
to remember and never forgive.

They plucked our flowers
"forbade" us to live,
our scatter through world now empowers
to remember and never forgive.

Stones and sand fly from under the wheels,
wherever this terrible road leads
it's a one-way ticket of fate
for them to the end, for us is to win.

--
(Ukrainian):
Це мали бути літо та жнива,
це мало бути щастя та турбота,
та склалася, на жаль, зима,
в очах тепер не радість, а скорбота.

Були б ці дні відпусткою для нас,
та не повернуться, на жаль, мільйони.
Вони хотіли відібрати у нас час,
а вийшло, що розширили кордони.

Вони робили нам вогневий вал,
а ми як фенікс ся рождали,
самі перекладаються слова
на мову, що раніше зневажали.

Вони зривали наш рожевий цвіт,
красиво жити нам “забороняли”,
а ми розпорошились на весь світ,
і їх відтоді звідусіль ганяли.

Із-під коліс летить каміння і пісок,
куди б не вела ця страшна дорога,
від долі це в один кінець квиток,
їм до кінця, а нам - до перемоги.
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