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Cheyenne Apr 25
This is the hill I will die on.
I choose to stand on the high ground,
And fight in the war.

I will be bloodied.
Bruised.
Broken.

But I will not run to the safety,
In the home at the bottom.
I will not cry for mercy,
As you raise your blade above my bowed head.

I will stay.
I will empty your lungs of hot air,
And shove you over the edge.
I will watch your body lie at the bottom,
Pointed at gruesome angles.

For in your one-sided battle to knock me down,
I have turned the tide.
This place that I have chosen to rest
Is no longer my grave,
But yours.
I hear both your words and the unspoken thoughts behind them.
I hear the whispers of judgment that fall between the cracks in the floor and are felt from the other end of the telephone.
While I don't need your acceptance, it's still hard to accept that, as your daughter, you still don't see me.
What you focus on is what I lack in your eyes, and all that needs to be "fixed."
I am so much more than my shortcomings, and I deserve love and respect, even as an imperfect being.
I realize that now.
Yet, after all these years, your judgment still stings, and my heart continues to ache with the pain it brings.
So, I love you from a distance, so that I can safeguard my heart, so that I can remain whole.
I refuse to dwell among those who seek to undermine me.
I have won too many wars to fight another battle with myself.

-Rhia Clay
Is it even worth it to fight
Cause at the end of the day, it's night
Whether you're wrong or right
Keeping teeth clenched tight
The beautiful sun is bright
But at the end of the day, it's night
In Kyiv’s subway shelter, a girl folds
bullet casings into cranes—wings etched
with Psalms hummed as shells tarnish sunsets to brass.

On Donetsk’s front, soldiers pluck petals
to pad boots where redemption sprouts
from blistered roots.

Beneath Gaza’s shattered solar grids,
ants weave fuse-wire nests between Quran
and rifle text—six-legged imams reconciling steel.

An Israeli ****** texts his Palestinian pen pal:
Your olive grove grew through my scope last night.
They meme Moses and Mohamed vaping
under the Red Sea’s algorithmic tide.

This is why laundry dances on Mariupol’s balconies—
why tank crews plant sunflowers in tread marks,
why Bedouin teens stream TikTok psalms
where Hagar’s tears salted dunes.

But lick Crimean wounds, let Gaza’s dust
baptize your lens, love the enemy’s laugh—

to hear sparrows in AK barrels chant Salaam
in C minor, eggs cracking into maps
where mines burst figs even Judas craves.
the current war affairs between Ukraine, Russia, Israel, and Palestine. Regardless of past love or hate stories, follow the Bible's teachings and wish for peace and happiness. Use detailed descriptions and natural expressions, inspired by the style of the following poem:
Viktoriia May 18
it doesn't sound as terrifying
if you split it into
a million deaths,
a million lives, lost individually.
we're wasting our humanity
on empty background noise.
we're forced to lock our gates,
avert our eyes,
pay mortgage with our souls.
it doesn't seem quite as finite
if you just take your pills
and track your progress,
while they wash all the blood
off of the hands
that hold our future hostage.
a million deaths,
a million possibilities,
surrendered individually.
In the sooth silent valley of ours,
Stood the well dressed souls,
In bizarre air of Pahalgam.

How can some demon, a ghost
Too inhuman to be born,
With a roar invade their elegant home,
And a line of splitted love they formed,
A beast switch air with his scorn,
All the smiles fades,
only to  leave eric air to mourn.

How inhuman of them to decide
And then to divide ,
On bases of what?
"so called, fantasised, man-made tribes?"

A beast who knows no soul,
Not even the flesh he himself worn,
How can he know a sacred script
He claims to be its magus divine,
But How can it even partalize?

Sindoor they stabbed, out of rage,
For her an ordeal she can never erase.
So, Did they not stab the honour?
Drowned the humanity in blood's corner?

Shrill cries that wound the stone,
Where justice whispers and fail to roar,
In the bleek silence they upheld the war,
The wounds won't dry ,
They'll scar across every door.


The Lass, a लाश right now,
Sinner of her, smiled somehow,
And god said,"get up Devi, strengthen your armour, face the devil and set them on fire".
And the goddess,
Who resides in sky with the wisdom,
Burnt down all nine of beast's sites.
And so the justice somehow survived.

-Lahar
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