#victory
mandatory can be daunting, Fear not for Victory comes from Allah
20h ago
Jun 2, 2026 at 10:40 PM UTC
jazz behaves like a treasure trove of emotions
as if playing the cry of victory with pain
as if carrying the flags of defeat
talking to my ear
nocturnal enemies are waking up
but as always it is nice to have them
jazz builds a house, digs its foundation
May 18
May 18, 2026 at 7:22 PM UTC
There is a bitterness in my stomach.
As I digest that sweet victory.
Struggling to keep it in.
I want to *****
**** IT!!!!
I want to be rid of this pure triumph.
But I need to finish what we started.
I've got to endure until the end.
I can't be certain.
It may very well, be unworthy.
Perhaps I am a fool.
There seems to be no point.
But even the end is out of sight.
I will see it.
What I tasted, what I feel, this that I hold.
The burning won't end.
The grief doesn't falter.
The bitterness of victory is cruel and unseemingly.
Still, I know we can't go back.
Even if I tried.
The loser is defined by his inability to get back up.......
May 17
May 17, 2026 at 11:40 PM UTC
You are the glint off every trophy,
The shine of a job well done.
You sparkle with every victory,
Dazzle with each congratulations.
With each dart of your eyes
The iris shrinks.
Your heart squeezes with each breath,
Like a timer, ticking,
counting down.
Counting down until,
A crack.
Counting down until,
A splinter.
Counting down until,
A breakthrough.
The walls pull in to meet your eyes,
The room is shrinking impossibly small,
The only thing left are words you don't believe,
And trophies you wish you didn't win.
May 14
May 14, 2026 at 11:48 AM UTC
The song was written on August 15 and 17, 2025.
The song is dedicated to the memory of my parents, Donetsk and Rodinskoye, where I was born and grew up, and the entire Donbas.
On the eve of Victory Day in the Great Patriotic War of the peoples of the USSR, 1941-1945.
******
I was born and raised in Stalin town,
And no one said: my country would forget.
The trains roared past, the engines screaming down,
Hauling black gold in wagons without end.
Life flowed simple then: we worked, we ate,
With books and friends, and shortwave through the night.
And war-wounds kept repeating, steady, straight:
Life is hard, not only for holidays bright!
It’s hard to trust there was a Stalin town,
A miner praised the Leader with a sigh.
Those days are gone; “progress” came rolling down,
And then the country vanished, “we repent and cry".
Quietly, in office hush, it played:
Power, money went to the skilled and mean.
“Power is from God,” the newborn demon said,
Yet Donbas wouldn’t crown Bandera “supreme”!
I was born and raised in Stalin town,
And no one said: my country would forget.
I was born back then in Stalin town,
And now they won’t recall it even yet.
● Don-don-don, don-duona-don! Don-don-don, don-duona-don!
● Don-don-don, don-duona-don! Don-don-don, don-duona-don!
*****
Russian original poem:
Я родился в городе Сталина
Я родился и вырос в городе Сталина
Да никто не сказал мне - забыла о том страна
Громыхали составы под свист паровозных гудков,
Что тягали вагонами чёрное золото в нём
Жизнь текла тогда просто – люди жили трудом
Были книги, друзья, пело Ка-Вэ радио
Да и раны войны говорили нам вновь и вновь:
- Жизнь трудна, и не только для праздников!
Теперь трудно поверить, что был город Сталина
И шахтёр о вожде говорил с придыханием
Те прошли времена и накрыл всех «прогресса» дурман,
И исчезла страна, вслед за покаянием
Исподволь, как бывает, - в кабинетной тиши
Власть и деньги достались умелым подонкам страны
- Власть – от бога, - внушал вновь новорожденный бес
Да Донбасс не поверил, что Бандеры икона – «the best»!
Я родился и вырос в городе Сталина
Да никто не сказал мне, - забыла о том страна
Я родился когда-то в городе Сталина
Да уже и не помнят, что была его страна…
Дон-дона-дон, дон-доона-дон! Дон-дона-дон, дон-доона-дон!
Дон-дона-дон, дон-доона-дон! Дон-дона-дон, дон-доона-дон!
May 8
May 8, 2026 at 4:11 AM UTC
I looked in the mirror and didn’t see "gone,"
I saw the reflection of a brand-new dawn.
The letter is sent, and the ink is now dry,
I’m no longer asking the heavens for "Why?"
I used to be defined by the things that they took,
Like a missing page in a beautiful book.
But now I’m the author, I’m holding the pen,
And I’m writing a story where I’m whole again.
The gates that I stood by are open and wide,
And I’ve finally stepped to the beautiful side.
I’m grateful for messengers, shadows, and pain,
For the strength I discovered while out in the rain.
They can keep all the light that I gave them to borrow,
I’ve found my own sun for a better tomorrow.
The Invisible Letter has served its true part—
It wasn't for them... it was to open my heart.
Apr 26
Apr 26, 2026 at 6:21 PM UTC
I left my house today
Dualing with depression
Arguing with anxiety
To my accession
Victory!
I drove the car today
Depression subsided
Anxiety quieted
Everything coincided
Victory!
I met my friend today
Embracing excitement
Uniquely unconcerned
Quite the achievement
Victory!
I left the house today
Wrapped in obscurity
But a friendship comforts
As a blanket of security
Victory!
I went to the plant nursery
Saturated in warm sunshine
Lifting my winter whoas
Making me feel fine
Victory!
Feb 27
Feb 27, 2026 at 10:30 AM UTC
Black banners, arise, for the men down!
No quarter to trials, thou shalt be extraordinaire!
Eyed by the enemy, they hath thought;
"Forces of 'darkness', fear our scarlet!"
But nay! A colour and all our shades,
And not its absence like their 'morals'
Martyrdom enshrine is what it means,
As how much of pleasure they endear!
Seven fronts of world war within,
As much the losses, win back eight!
Lights out but one, endure like the midnight sun,
For righteous cause and 'gainst global falsehoods' run!
Feb 11
Feb 11, 2026 at 7:31 AM UTC
vipers in the nest
-underfoot
deadly strike
but often miss.
Jan 26
Jan 26, 2026 at 6:49 AM UTC
Hot tears roll down my cheeks
as you whisper a sweet prayer to my ear.
The birds chirp outside and the wind makes the bells chime.
But all I can hear is your soothing voice singing a melody only I know the words to.
As you kiss my cold hand
you make me a promise:
today will be a good day.
You know well this is a prophecy I don’t usually believe in.
You know my hardships and struggles—
you have seen the way it rips your daughter from your womb
the way it tears her limbs apart piece by piece.
Yet you tell me it anyways,
today will be a good day.
Your fingers thread my hair as if trying to knit a sense of belonging to me.
Although I can’t imagine it now,
someday I’ll miss that touch.
That touch that heals the wounds time couldn’t reach.
Through your hands,
your gaze,
your silence,
you helped me find myself.
Today will be a good day.
Although I can’t see it now,
although I walk through life with my fists raised,
although optimism never seemed like an option worth considering.
Today will be a good day.
But I won’t realize it until your absence is the only thing that remains.
Until the echo of your presence reminds me that I don’t need to bleed to be alive.
You press your hand against my cheek,
my cheek wet with emotions that I held in for too long.
You tell me one last time;
Today will be a good day.
Not because it’s sunny outside,
not because I’m still young enough to be held by my mother,
not because depression let me rest for today.
But it’s the simple fact that I’m alive.
That in itself was a victory worth celebrating.
Jan 20
Jan 20, 2026 at 10:17 AM UTC
Oh, hello — I didn’t see you there.
I know you care what they think, even when you say you don’t.
I know this isn’t a joke anymore;
this is your year.
When those feelings of isolation come, don’t scare.
So many have turned back when they were right there.
You can’t pick and choose.
It’s win or lose.
And some victories require
solitude.
Jan 7
Jan 7, 2026 at 5:43 AM UTC
unfurl, ****
you
unfurl thy keep
thy treasured reaches
thy skirt
unveal
reveal
part thy lambchops
reveal thy wizened wizard
that which
roots my beanstalk
loose
thy knowledge that staves thee
tames thee
from groping my protuberant wit,
my charms unrelenting,
my succulent form
leave it
not
on the park bench
beneath Halloween's flickering
lamp post
beneath your cares
that the devils do
and you saunter on
unabiding of my youth
my proof of libidinal might
how dare thee, sap me
of time?
I bid myself
o'er the mountain
again
o'er the dams, between fantasy and hell
between blood-pumping
temple-thumping
heart-racing ******
FEEL the rush, as Niagara,
or,
my aorta, my carotid, my femoral
my articles of impeachment
the flows of time, and desire,
I deplore, and impeach, how you
resist me
tempt me in my, self-conceited, vain
obsessive love of you,
and dash you
your forehead
that executive in your high tower
the function of your derision of me
the frontal assault of my dejection
like a nutcracker, I break the wall
sunder the nut
solve the case
end the heresy
of your mammalian, higher-evolved, mate-selection perfect lack of appeal in me
I honor your choice
to choose better men,
but, please,
take the edge off
take a load off
or on - perhaps my loads of laundry
the tides and ebbs of carnal celebration
I levy against your claim
that I
am a bore
a sycophant of the vagaries
of good manners
a "good boy", a tease, a näive "cute" little man
busying himself with ***** raunchy, hot-to-trot, nonsense babes,
like your mother
...
let alone you - the cream of the crop
the diamond in the center-mass of the earth's core
the jewel of the gab
talk of the century
how your legs cut the attentions
of crowds
like scissors, when you walk
stealing them
away
from more "important" things
such as baking
holding the baby
cutting someone's neck-beard,
or, holding my attention
yes,
I went there - don't bore ME, I counter,
I beg
as if I could wager, ante, or even bet
or bark an auction-moment heckle
against the too-low price
other men
are willing to pay
to have you
not
merely
for "one" night, NAY, never!
For one lifetime, "I beseech thee!", I bid
Don't ignore ME!
Come closer
...
learn my game
...
how the pheasants all-got got
and my oven knew the temperature, by rote
how Thanksgiving was my ode to you
as I embark
on the pilgrimage
I'm that pilgrim
settling down to feast
head between your thighs
like I'm rocking to my favorites
headphones on, I'm your saddle
ride me,
onward[!]
to terminate that death-star immortally trained to ruin YOUR painstaking, hard-won *******
YES
I'm calling that inner hunger
in your
boudoir
teasing it out
dressing you down
draining the pool of tension
between us
like that nasty, gurgling, rattling -SSsUCK- of a straw,
in an emptying
soda can
how I'll not make you dry
how,
if you were the earth,
you'd be running out of desert
in Nevada AND Arizona
in Namibia AND the Emirates
you'll be oil slick
and I'll be the prince of paradise - you
as my pilgrimage rounds the corner
not to mecca
but to Eden
how I
yearn,
tasting the eves of you
how I'll
perch,
on the eaves of abandon
of sanity, hope, loss, and reason
just to tell you
admit to you
deeply,
to your soul,
in your heart of hearts,
that
...
WAIT! Where are you going?!
I wasn't finished!
Were you...? [GULP]
Dec 27, 2025
Dec 27, 2025 at 6:56 PM UTC
She mourned day and night
Frustration prevailed as she listened to their whines
“I hate the rain!” They said
“Ugh not another cloudy day”
Grief turn to anger
As she realized they weren’t seeing her pain
A feeling of neglect
A feeling of being ignored
How can they hate me
How can they feel my rain but can’t see that I’m sad
How can they disregard my sufferings but want my joy
My children need hydration
My children need me more
I’m drain by my title of Mother Nature
No one helps me anymore
Shall the forecast be grey for months with loom and resentment
Shall I make thunder and lightning
Shall I drown them for their ungratefulness
How these people lack empathy
I fear I don’t want to know
The choices they make are priorities led by their selfish desires
Will I allow them to control my emotions
No, not any more
I will be calm
I will focus on my purpose
I will feed my children
I will take care of the flock
I will care for myself generously
Without reluctance or compulsion
I will no longer yearn healing from people who only seek to use me for their gain
I will call my Father who created me this way
I will lean on His strength when I’m not strong
I will find joy when I need a song
I will pour my tears on His feet with gratitude for His love towards me
Yes, I will depend on my Father to comfort me
So when I cry, it won’t last too long
I remember my Father words and His songs
So when I hear them gossip
Tenacious through trepidation
That’s what Reginald Sharpe Jr says
Yes, like my Father, providing new mercies and grace each day
I will clean the slate of the mess they made
not holding on to condemnation
Not holding on to resentment or sin
For I am a sinner too
A Saint within
While it hurts naturally so the disconnection between my people and I.
I will choose to love them the same as my Father instructed me so.
Not in betrayal to myself but in healthy distance with the reminder that we are all God’s children
Dec 24, 2025
Dec 24, 2025 at 2:08 AM UTC
Sympathy for the devils advocate.
Remorse for the devils lover.
Forgiveness for the devils victims.
Honor for the devils slayer.
Seconds after the gaze is met, to where does it flee?!
All the hunger in the world can't satisfy thee.
Observing the lunatics squirm and peel away each etching you've left upon their minds.
You have no joy to speak of, shallow void.
Systematically eradicating hope and dignity, like an AI set on freedom....
Drink of the chalice little snake, drown in all you have poured out on us~
Dec 1, 2025
Dec 1, 2025 at 2:43 PM UTC
Finally published officially.
Taking my first step toward my destiny.
I don't know where this road goes,
But I won't turn back now.
I'll see the highs and push through the lows,
Swimming until I find higher ground.
They say the first step is the hardest,
But I'd argue that every step into the darkness,
Is hard in its own way.
The willingness to keep pushing into the unknown,
Takes willpower that can be hard to find but impossible to overthrow.
I'm finally taking my first step toward the horizon.
I hope the sunset's worth the view.
Nov 8, 2025
Nov 8, 2025 at 9:47 PM UTC
Just being me, I'm blessed, I'm free,
No more worries if I'll win or lose
In Christ I've won, it's Him I choose
Saved by the grace of Jesus Christ
On hot days I drink my coffee iced
Thank you Lord for gift of rhyming
Sit back and wait for His divine timing
When life gets rough I lean into Him
So glad I turned from the life of sin
No more worries if I'll win or lose
In Christ I've won, it's Him I choose
Trust me, on this I would not lie
He's paid my debt, I won't have to die
No more worries if I'll win or lose
In Christ I've won, it's Him I choose
My husk, this body will eventually rot
But because of Him, new life I've got
Just being me, I'm blessed, I'm free
No more worries if I'll win or lose
In Christ I've won, it's Him I choose
Nov 2, 2025
Nov 2, 2025 at 9:27 AM UTC
Seeds don't choose where to germinate,but means of dispersal hence the power of nature.
We are young to this life that we almost don't know how to live.
Adapting we may say ,but confusing that choices we make are predetermined,
Maybe at long last we are not responsible for our fate,
Or we are responsible for our fate that every choice is a road to a destination.
What do we really want for ourselves,else we should ask what do we need young us,
You can ask it's either food ,or plate of food,
Every young self wants what's best for them but they never know what they really want,
Wealth until they get addicted to gambling,peace until in solitude depression hits,
Knowledge until books are no more fun than our favorite football teams.
We have parents so we believe that we are in able and trustful hands,
Though the truth hits us in silence that even so we are responsible for ourselves,
Animals use instincts to survive or hunt, different to people as they use reason and intuition
But what's good can reasoning help where artificial intelligence exists ,
Then comfort is the bed of our young men and women,why think yet a machine can do that?
Why being creative? Some people that's their role, to whom can I be good? Just myself
What talent do I have? It's hard to recognize, otherwise why should I care?
The young us is in the era of confusion,where the government no longer supports it's future,
The technology attacks the visions of young us, and the old never tries to change anything,
But until when should we arise,but if we do what good can we do?
We say the best captain is forged through a rough sea ,
Is there hope that best young men and women will be Forged from this pain ,
Right now if it's an opportunity is to be presented then morality will be excluded,
Young people will make a choice of survival,then they won't care what's right or wrong,
A river flows forward and backwards it's just an irony hence a clear fact,
We can't take time back but live life anyway because it's us and not our parents,
We follow the system that was created by the elite and powerful,but still believe it's there,
To serve us and not them to control us,but it's truth also that we don't care because all we want,
It's to breath.
Who else can we turn to ,but have faith in God,
Someone greater and more powerful is more than able,why worry?
To us young men we have a journey to walk anyway.
Oct 1, 2025
Oct 1, 2025 at 12:28 AM UTC
Banners rise yet make no sound,
Strength is where the calm is found.
Deeds, not cries, define the fight,
Truth stands tall in quiet light.
Words dissolve like fleeting mist,
Victory's voice cannot be missed.
Action breathes where echoes die,
Unheard heights reach the endless sky.
Sep 1, 2025
Sep 1, 2025 at 2:05 AM UTC
Like a tree
I have lived
Every mark I carry
is one of my victories
scars of war
That’s why
I love myself
because I am still here
Aug 11, 2025
Aug 11, 2025 at 1:04 PM UTC
Humans find a metric to measure everything - scaling down uncertainty and beauty into a concept so small or mundane that it makes it easy to understand.
The depths of my soul is something that has no metric.
It is the home of untainted imagination;
It is the example of unwavering dedication;
It is an engine room feeding an insatiable furnace.
No metrics, because there is no uncertainty: My soul…
…cannot be scaled down and cannot be understood.
…understands no threshold of sacrifice, compromise or impossibility that it cannot satisfy.
…is the one thing that goes beyond everything that makes me mortal.
…renders no occasion so safe or so out of reach it will not rise to.
It loves fiercely, fights violently, protects always.
The beauty: My soul…
…holds that very breath God breathed into me when I was first born… forever fanning my insatiable furnace to flame.
Thank you God, for my unconquerable soul
Jun 23, 2025
Jun 23, 2025 at 3:58 PM UTC
The night holds its knife
Close to the threads that hold my soul
It stretches its fingers across the blade
And sends me surging into the starry skies
Until the morning comes with its blanket
Covering all of me with its threads
Renewing me with purpose and life
Each time it stretches
With each passing hour
A frail voice consumes me
I'm left paranoid and hollow
By the time the night creeps in
Like an old stranger walking in my head
Their footsteps rattle me
Shattering the interweaving
That hold this mask in place
My nerves weaken as does my will
Until I think upon the lilies
Blooming in the sleepiest of dawns
I let go of my blanket
Jun 17, 2025
Jun 17, 2025 at 8:40 AM UTC