Parable Ad Libitum Ex Varna: “In the lower and higher, a certain anti-demonological air carried a Keri towards the sails of the Procorus rituals, extending the Eurydice ship that came from Rhodes. He had on the floor of his cell some branches of Tamarisks, like Tarayes that vanished due to their quality when they expired in his own monk's feet and became perennial in his Oikodomeo, to raise with the Taray the re-transformation essences of the lexeme of greenness conventional in Patmos, being very deflowered in periods with high tempers, only with some secretions in which Procorus felt adventitious of its reflowering, from there and then in the anemophilous advantages of the winds released from the belly in sedimentary veins of Rhodes. In its alchemical anemophilia or movement of the inseminating winds, the subtle soil vanished with the force of the Lion of Sulfur that derived from the Cinnabar, and with the Anemoi wind that was impregnated in the capsules of the Tamarisk, under the feet of the acolyte. In the aquifer of the groundwater phreatic layer on Patmos, remnants were scattered so that in Pro Nobis they lay their demonologies, sponsoring Persian magics of the Post-Gaugamela Lid, I get in the Ex Varna with re-transfigured iridescence on Mount Tabor.

Procorus says: “This Tamarix or Tamarisk, has poured the limits of our Oikodomeo, to retain the surface plate and reuse it in absorbing the fire under my feet, compelling them to readjust under the igneous soil concentrated in the cinnabar residue, carrying the dermal prototype towards the saturated bottom of the salt larvae, which imposed themselves on the bruised beam of their skill, in some bundles of Tamarisks, showing themselves innocuous in the cloister imagination and right here asphyxiated by some Chaldean tribes, who felt themselves from the stand of illusionism of the Ex Varna ”.

In the compaction of this epic hyper fantasy in that instant, the dedication of the Gift was born to interpret the subtlety of two-dimensional variety that would seem until now, under the layers that were contaminated out of nowhere, by the mere fact of the whim of the augur momentum, which is finally restricted in the morphism of the Katapausis and the chamber of San Juan Apostle, being finally supported by layers and shawls of subterranean aqueous filters, towards a restructuring of the Euclidean plane and towards the vicinity of the plantar pedestrian zones of Procorus that were three-dimensional already in the construction of the Oikodomeo, for the foundation of the Náos or temple, which would be triggered when the Hexagonal Progeny arrived to build the Vernarthian temple with gifts of multi-purgatory construction, for the Oikos in Abode of the social unit of Aquarian spirits or Aqua that is terminated at the end of Capricorn dehorned. In mutual edifying peace and between both zodiacal proximities of the Oikodom, here every day spectra purged and rubbed each other in the archetype of the Megaron, which was intended to give in oblations and votive connections in the massages that the spirits of the Vernarthian universe gave them in their spiritual mortar, reconverted in their eternal fight to live in friction and in the brown partitions of the Megaron bloodless to inaugurate it as a solid bulwark, in the weak regions of the Hetairoi that cellularly snatches vitality co-energized in their extremities, of total imbalance and of bumpy patrons maneuvered on their feet crawling towards the karmic Saetas of Velos Toxeumas and Dorus unscathed. But feverish and threatening their integrity, when they fell and stepped on the Euclidean edge, opening from the designs of the Hellenic palfrey, becoming parametric in the paranasal of Kanti and their neighborhood spatiality in the Parthenon of Fidas, with Ikríomas or scaffolding that made them collapse of its coordinates with Mamdilaria and Agiogitiko wine baths on the Vernarthian body between the columnar of its Sabines and of the Greek colonies of Lacedaemonians of the 4th century BC. C., already entering into borders of synchronicity from the Erechtheion, falling from the Caelum, near all his teachers who helped him install the final tiles of the temple, next to them drunk with Nepenthe, by nozzles of intense rain of vine in the silent afternoon of the Inter-Cosmos of Athena, Handing them the poison of Velos Toxeumas, a priori... and before attacking any skin that wants to revive itself in the inoculated Vernarthian dreams.

(Procorus, manifested himself solidly in his solitude when he saw that Lacedaemonians and beings of the night accompanied him, in contrast to the dark light that allowed him with a single chandelier to expand more inaccessible in the semiglyphs and in the grooves of the Megaron, which glowed synarchically. in the plans of the new Monastery of Saint John the Theologian)

Parable Hippeis above the Eared One: “Kanti; Aristocratic hussar of steeds, a native of Crete, was broken down from servants as a possession of high rank from Thessaly and Argolis. In his frontal Parasinus he ruminated his psychic frontality of not being defeated for the sole fact of being subjected prolonged in helplessness, and stating what he was not capable of winning by defeating a Hippeis when he has imperturbability prior to a master. Therefore he was assigned from the Krepis or crepidorma to the Golden or Golden number. Dividing from all other paranasal sinuses, by less than the base of the kraníon by e long and factored by Pi ( ). In the Paraseno Spheno Palatino of him; the exterior colonnade in eurythmic balance or harmony was provided in order, optical correctness and rational geometric construction with parameters of the Parthenon and spheno ganglion of ribs of the peripteral octasil, surrounding the arcades of the expiration frieze, and exhaling from Zeus the anti-seismic vibrational integuments and neighs of Hippeis, like Kanti exorbitant and convulsive. In his Maxillary Parasinus; he was subjugated in the Architrave of the lower part of the entablature that rests directly on the columns, its structure worked on its servile lintel, to transmit the weight of the roof to the columns and duplicate banalities of the pontificate of the Samarios horses of Orondel. In the parasinus Turbinate Dorsal; a Metope, occupies part of the frieze where the Doric entablature of a classical building would rest, located between two triglyphs. Like a metope decorated with bas-reliefs, in taboric cliffs of Samaria and its horses in neatness of Hippeis blood. Medium Parasinus; the Stylobate, towards the upper step on which the temple rests, forming part of the crepidoma: on a stepped platform that raises the building above the ground level to give it prominence and greater poise. As a staggered middle to the largest of the great final step towards the Koelum, which joins them in their golden edging of the Equisetum like horsetails with green blood. Of the Ventral Parasinus; In The Opisthodome, a separate space located at the back of the temple, a special vestal element is attached together with the Pronaos (or portico) and the Naos (or sanctuary). Here they take refuge for the snout of their cheeks full of Pleiades evading the hunter of Oarion, each one in decreed steeds of Crete and Samaria, that shine in the transition of the oceanic foam that runs by its naturalness in high tides, and in exalted pause erogenous temptation to an Aphroditism. And finally the super Paraseno or Chamber of Canephore, governing and ruling the priestesses of Baal with the steeds of Orondel, for the purpose of sacrificing the sacred courtesans with their hooves that they consecrated in the stylobate, which esoterically became diffuse. Pro reign in the Canephores along with the Vestals, for dichotomous fajina with Hestia between fires and bonfires that will spill from the mysteries of Eleusis.

They had their six Parasenes separated from their numen septum in other castes that super endowed the confusion that came from Samaria in the kingdom of Israel, being a Hippeis of the Elite Greek cavalry. In the farms of this region, one hundred years after the Syrian ******* in this same analogue, Kanti was assigned to openwork in the meadows for agricultural work, adhered to all the Philistine plains. Plethora of exuberance with liters of pinkish Vine before longed for by some, they tore from vine shoots by snouts and Cinnabar sulfur, already encysted in presses and battles of implicit rows of vines burnished by the thickness of their sulfurous secretion, decanting on the exuberant and grassy carpet. In Thessaly Kanti stood out with its supremacy of hydric seed that raised a surplus of rain when the low waters of the Mediterranean rocked the gargoyles on their similar steeds. In the sagittal of his hoof, below the "U" all the Hippeis of Thessaly were marked with the Vox of ππεῖς, but not those of Samaria, they planted their fourth ends on the ground of Deuteronomy; “He fell in love with his mistresses, whose flesh is like that of donkeys, whose flow is like the effusion of horses. He told himself... You longed for the lust of your youth, when Egyptians touched your breast, caressing the ******* of your youth. Continuing in this way Kanti with his chronicles warned that in his militancies and privileges they did not dig select strings of vines when he had to clear his hooves, which were made of fire and steel from Hephaestus bars by order of Etrestles, who distended his agrazones, letting him levitate towards the clouds with the sweet potatoes of their grafted plantations, that burst those esplanades in hydrometeors of tested sweat on the thick legs browsed by the song of their prayers, and thorns that broke their spiky washdown dueling in the cumulonimbus clouds that lavished care that settled before the eyes of Hippeis foremen, where the strains did not ferment like wine that has no vent and makes them burst into new skins. Thus detonates the patience of the gifted steeds of Samaria, towards some new winemakers who would receive him for a grape harvester who brought spices and olives for a new millennium.

The deposits of credibility made everything in their steeds and genetics of a millennium, to be more effective and fruitful for all that Kanti has not stepped on all the Cyclades, Dodecanese and Messolonghi at the same time as Hippeis from Thessaly, but since the optics of the Orondel; who was the duplicate of Kanti Samaritano, bearing ten times the weight that will make him bear together in tons and more than a thousand oil presses that exceed what his body mechanizes like horse power, thus being able to lighten himself in pruning of other regencies that he does not they shake or shake the branches above the tops of Zeus and his molar that neither expectorates nor pulverizes the best without his terrace. Here, where before the trees grew, they grow in the orchard on the outskirts of the town, Kanti frees all the steeds of Samaria with his gravel in his gummed hoof, mining the lands of the kings and digging up napas valued more than all the fruit-bearing heritage, more than in a fifth year along with all the seas, to make of them the ones that are in other uncircumcised as a reward for those who hide from early taming and their slender task. Those gleaned in Thessaly were from pitchforks in the same cereals that gleaned from those who stopped feeding them and assembled in a grass fable of a rustic sower and fallow farm laborers. The spikes did not fall, the Hippeis with Kanti collected them with their extremities legs in provinces of harvest dragged in sheaves and corsican censers of Epha, like a rope of gold and incense of Sheba who thus brought enlargement to Judah and praise to Yahweh. Epha describes the land where the dromedaries arrive in Israel: "A multitude of camels will cover you, the young camels of Midian and Epha." Incense in a sprigs of Bethlehem, with delicious practices inherited from Ruth reaping the barley, oats and wheat in the same stampede of the Hippeis commanded by Kanti thrashing barley, in which an Epha cultivates the Primogen Gramineae of Thessaly”

(Procorus says: "in the defeat of the Persians by the Greeks, in the naval battle of Salamis, in 480 BC, marked the beginning of the decline of the maritime trade of the Phoenicians, here the East was completely extinguished when Alexander the Great took Tyre in 332 B.C., incorporating Phenicia into the Greek Hellenistic world. All the horses that came from Thessaly were all of the lineage of Hippeis de Kanti, with germines from Samaria and Chambers of Canephores)

Parable Ad Libitum Ex Varna: “In the lower and upper parts, a certain anti-demonic air carried a Kerí towards the candles of the Procorus rituals, extending the Eurydice ship that came from Rhodes. On the floor of his cell he had some Tamarisk branches such as Tarayes that vanished due to their quality when they expired at his own monk's feet to become lasting in his Oikodomeo, to raise with the Taray the essences of re-transformation of the lexeme of conventional greenness into Patmos, very deflowered in periods with high untemperances only with some secretions in which Procorus felt the re-flowering adventitious from there and then in the anemophilous advantages of the winds released from the belly in sedimentary veins of Rhodes. In its alchemical anemophilia or movement of inseminating winds, the subtle soil vanished with the force of the Sulfur Lion that derived from the Cinnabar with the Anemoi wind that impregnated the Tamarisk capsules, under the acolyte's feet. The aquifer of the water table of the subterranean waters in Patmos, remnants were scattered so that in Pro Nobis they lay of their demonologies, sponsoring Persian magics of the Lid Post-Gaugamela, with themselves in the Ex Varna with iridescences re-transfigured in the Mount Tabor. Says Procorus: “This Tamarix or Tamarisk has poured limits of our Oikodomeo, to re hold the superficial plate and reuse itself in the absorption of the burning under my feet, forcing them to readapt under the ground scorching concentrated in the Cinnabar residue, carrying the dermal prototype towards the saturated bottom of the salt larvae that prevailed in the pummeled beam of their skill, in some bundles of Tamarisk showing themselves innocuous in the imagination of the cloister suffocated right here by some Chaldean tribes, who felt like the illusionist stand of Ex Varna” . In the compaction of this epic hyper-fantasy, his urge was born from the consecration of the Gift of interpreting the subtlety of two-dimensional variety that would appear up to this moment, beneath the layers that were contaminated out of nowhere by the mere fact of the whim of the augur momentum, which finally it is restricted in the morphism of the Katapausis and chamber of San Juan Apóstol, finally supported by layers and blankets of subterranean aqueous filters towards a restructuring of the plane of Euclid, and towards the vicinity of plantar pedestrian zones of Procorus that were already three-dimensional in the construction of the Oikodome, for the foundation of the Náos or temple, which would go crazy when the Hexagonal Progeniture arrived to build the Vernarthian temple with gifts of multi-construction purgatory for the Oikos in Dwelling of the social unit of Aquarius or Aqua spirits that are terminates at the end of Capricorn dehorned. In mutual edifying peace between both zodiacal proximities of the Oikodomé, here every day specters purged and rubbed in the archetype of the Megaron that was intended to beoblations and in votive links in the massages that the manes of the Vernarthian universe gave them in their spiritual mortar, reconverted in their eternal brawl for living in the friction and brown partitions of the bloodless Megaron to inaugurate it as a solid bastion, in the weak regions of the Hetairoi that cellularly, it snatches energized vitality from their extremities, with total imbalance and wheezy guards maneuvered on their feet, dragging themselves towards the karmic Saetas de Velos Toxeumas and unharmed Dorus. But feverish and threatening their integrity when they were falling and plundering the Euclidean edge, opening up from the designs of the Hellenic palfrey, becoming parametric of Kanti's paranasals and spatiality that would surround the Parthenon of Fidas, with Ikríomas or scaffolding that made them collapse from their coordinates with Mamdilaria and Agiogitiko wine baths on the Vernarthian body between the column of the Sabines and Greek colonies of Lacedaemonians from the 4th century BC. C., already entwined in borders of synchronicity from the Erechtheion, falling from the Caelum, close to all his teachers who helped him install the final tiles of the temple, next to them intoxicated with Nepenthe, by intense vine rain stómas in the silent afternoon of the Inter-Cosmos of Athena, sending them the poison of Velos Toxeumas, a priori… and before attacking any skin that wants to revive itself in the inoculated Vernarthian dreams.

(Procorus, manifested himself solid in his loneliness when seeing that Lacedaemonians and beings of the night accompanied him, in contrast to the dark light that allowed him with a single candlestick to expand more inaccessible in the semi-glyphs in the grooves of the Megaron that shone synarchically in the plans of the new Monastery of Saint John the Theologian) ..

Parabola Megarón Dódeka Spathiá: “Procorus perceptibly saw how the sky of Patmos was crossed by heavy metalloids of bronze, tin and acroballistics; for the cavalry of Kanti and six Para Senos appeared, who used to ride on the roof of the Megarons belling to the sounds of the acroteras. In these episodes in twelve Swords that were multiplied in advance by thousands before the Megaron began to be built. In relevant dimensions and virtual foundation lines, acrostics of steeds from Thessaly on their palfrey mounted Polish Winged Hussars, carrying twelve wings of cuirasses with twelve horsemen, adjoining the halo of heavy cavalry in Katyn, being abducted by a circum-regressive parapsychological Ellipsis of the 1939 event in Poland. Each rider was strung in blood with golden wing feathers. In each of their hands they carried the curved saber Szabla, to cover up the unspoken target of oppressors and musketeer intruders from the armory hearth of the hypothetical enemy-unknown but outsider, assaulting the flanks of the rooftops in the Virtual Megaron of Patmos, using Kopias or pikes that schemed in the impetus of deadly resistance of the betrayed ancestry. The roof that pointed to the south west reflected the light of Orion by aerial forms of the Aegean choir, riding on the high seas with Votive offerings or offerings of Cyclamines and Red Poppies, hovering in majesty in their nomadic obtuse compass of Rhapsodas coffering epic elegies of the Megaron and of those revived venerable triumphs that stretched out on the banner of glory and bed of epiphany. Rhapsode proclaims thus: "In Katyn Wings of Golden Wood and Red Poppy, they adorned themselves with Bellis Perennis in twelve thousand rags in our steppes harassing their moan in blood wars, framed in large sections on the threshold of their mounted war. There were twelve thousand red poppies burning on the executory pilaster near Smolensk.” How much is there to get fed up in the Polish cavalry of the 17th century, that upon glimpsing the barbarous sounds of the temple that approached them to the altar of the Virtual Megaron, showing off in acquiescent ceremonial and counter-revolution of lifeless aristocracy in needy portals-living and mortal-living who posed in the rear of twelve thousand officers slain in the Forest of Katyn, such gentle medieval men in the contemporary untimely invasion. Here in this place the puffed winged horsemen went by destiny when they were sacrificed, like steel cushions they galloped on their heads sheltered by brotherhoods of Hussars that protected them with Lion and Tiger breastplates with retracted claws. Procorus, observed in the virtuous imagery as medieval winged specimens, protected the frontispiece of the Megaron in bullet-ridden super-existence and a trance of historic architectural dread. Here on a Patmian soil, each one of the officers was aided by each 17th century Polish cuirassier with ferocious wings, they were making them agonize with honor and glory, with those similar twice right there of their resemblance, with misty discrepant blood interwoven, executing on apocryphal witnesses who covered themselves with your looks, of overflowing evasion and truce of bodies stained with mourning and despair, with blankets of red poppies scattered adjoining a naive unarmed forest. Over exalted memorandums and secret cries of Adrastea procreating their kind with the nymphs, they drowned out the cries of cuirassiers like Didaskein, before sobbing in their topic, but of Pashkein in the foliage of rotten hopes, of those who hit them from behind, in analogous vexation to heroes of Katyn. Here neither Cronos nor Mother Rhea heard them, only Adrastea prevented the cries of the men-children who were atoned for behind their backs, from venting them from the foliage of the Didaskein-Pashkien, in tears of solid mercury. Kanti's steeds rise, carrying them the curved Zsabla sabers, before each is shot in the head as twelve thousand Winged Riders are caught in each Zsabla. These sacrificed them before they were killed in the waist of his head, not being expired by ammunition but rather by sabers of honor and glory of their own winged protectors, who would lead them by sharp weapons towards the holocaust of the Mashiach surrounded by red poppies. “The red and steamy cendal of the forest carried the souls of the Hussars to pass them through the sabers of their compatriots, before they were immolated by the Soviets, so their apostolic souls will be catechized by Zsablas of dyed airs of Red Poppies converted into air of respite from the heroes of the Katyn Forest, redeemed by the Golden Winged Riders of the 17th century”

(Procorus in the immensity of the voices and epithets that were heard, differed in the volatile and explosive metal sabers at the present time that were extinguished in their crooked armor and in Polish beings, in a rear that finally Procorus settled them in urdes of immaculate habit, suspended in twelve thousand Red Poppies flanked by his forehead before being shot from the cortex and occipital lobe, forging into golden sabers and cenobitic transvestites who received them in arms in the sublime stench of effluvium of their blood and hosts, never left and desisted from bubbling by the figures of the acrotera near the Megarón, ditto in the same Forest of Katyn, surrounded in a string of Rosary that dazzled in Procorus prohijando them)

Parable Fourteen Donítikos: “fourteen vibrations were polarized in the enthronement of Vernarth towards his brother Etréstles, making filial gradation in possible anti-filial conception of worship and death in who is suspended from one to the other under the condemnatory rhythm of past lives. It is typical of the facsimile of his own genetic shadow Cain-Abel, but of geomorphological gradation and time-space, which finally brings them together as blood relatives of the same Orbis Alius trunk. Dismissing by not accessing a vibrational anti-Asur (as a healthy creative mind in Genesis) as an energy that manages to restructure itself in any homologous way in the world of Asur as the son of Shem in Genesis..., as comparative and intergenerational mythology , enlivening socio-parental metaphors, pronouncing in cohesion and enchantment what happens in another similarity of gender or Mental field, staging the probability of a mental Sun that dies in a Super Man, and this comes to free us from the ties of existence and plane terrestrial not reflected of immanent and instance of Eon, in geological and sidereal lives. The scrolls of this semi-myth, is subsequent to hanging scrolls on the will of us existed for thousands of years linked to links and human characteristics of knowledge through professed and comparative feeling. Compensation of material distemper between the anti-pivot and life between both refers to the simultaneous undividedness of each specification as a phenomenon lacking hearing in winter and inclement periods. Here the outburst of retro involutions becomes cloistered in Menatira, daughter of Cránae, Queen of Eleusis Pro Eleusis tally fuzzy from the convulsing breath of both through the steppe of silence, both of them. Dodecahedron on an octagon in each one for each one that was interpolated in each area when Demeter was looking for his first-born Persephone.

“Etréstles metamorphosed, so that Metanira reunited them with the sub-mythology of their destinies and the preconception of the elucubrar of a final breaking of the abstract spell, which was mixed with the element of vehemence in their irascibility to wait for a next season in fourteen toasts followed by Ouzo, and goods with intact and distant deities in oscillation of life-maturity, making it after the eleventh Ouzo in determinism of autonomous eternal substances of the ritual of Elusis, appreciable power and coarseness of the one who has to compensate for the one who has everything and the that will never have it. (Eternal Life Spell)”

a) Abundance of rain of red blood cells, in quotation marks of the legacy of Bios as all deprivation of life file, rather for those who yearn for it between a physical trifle alibi...

b) Psujé for Vernarth, “For whoever wants to save the life of his soul, he will lose it”. But he will restore it if he is saved by divine psychology muscle."

c) Zoé, “radiosity and refraction of etherization and physicality, more than a biological physical body re-transformed into purging from the superior to the inferior multi-created, but in a Jesuit adjective and sphere of consequent concatenation towards the plane of the

Mashiaj as holistic of the human cave ecstasy, in inflexible marriage between heaven and earth Ad Aeternum”

(Procorus, auto-irrigated red blood cells, to deliver them both, and relevel the levels of red blood cells of the Mashiach's divine blood, which expected to be refounded in both brothers of the Vibrational in Fourteen Donítikos or Hellenic Vibrations, with the initial D in the lower left ear and the S in the upper right of the vibrational field of the Tinnitus of God, with their ears placed in their hands, take them by their ossicle and from them in the curvilinear dawn that vibrates in what He only wants to do to them Dodeká).

Hum jise  sach man rahe the
Wo to  tha  ek vaham
apno ne hi maar Diya Varna
Gairo mein Kya  tha dum
Bhool Hui sabhi ko samaj ke apna
Wo to gulam samajke todte Gaye sapna
Janam le liya Sirf itna tha gunah
Iski saari umra milti rahi saja
Socha tha hai humara hak, hai humara bhi mahatva
Badi der lagi samajne mein nahi humara koi astitva
Yeh aisi duniya jisme prem se bada aham
Saari umra jise sachchai samja wo to nikala bhram
E dile nadaan na karna koi ummeed
Jald hi seekh le  yeh hi hai jag ki reet
Jane kis Kalam se likhi khuda ne hamari kismat
Saari Zindagi pyaar na Mila mili hai sirf nafrat
Than li hai ab khud se muh na modenge
Jo bahar se na Mila use ander hi khojenge

yakeen karne ki mitti zeharili ** gyi thi ...
usmein bhi ye ladki mohabbat ke baagh laga sakti thi...
par kisi ki muskaan ke aage khud ko bujha liya isne ,
varna chahti toh shehar mein aag laga sakti thi !

I found a tiny piece of paper
With something scribbled on it
It reads,
"You are not worthless
Work hard and shut everyone's
**** mouth with it"
I smiled and remembered
I wrote it when I was scolded
By my mother in front of my whole class
When I got really bad marks in my Maths test(Ps:still a nightmare).
She screamed and said
"You can't do anything"
Also she said she is ashamed to even come to attend my PTM.
I was so humiliated at that time I cried like a 3 year old. Also everyone got their share of gossip.
I WAS THE JOKE NOW.
Now everytime anyone saw me studing , enacted like my mother in front of me. Or even worse....they would say "Dude padh le varna aunty na....she is very strict na..''
At that time I had no choice to study and keep myself motivated (thus I wrote this paper).

Final exams results came
I got highest marks in my class and have done extremely good in my maths test.
I was so happy and contented.
Every joke on me had an answer now.

Now what is the need to share this incident.?
Actually there is....I just want to question each parent why they attach their status in the society with the marks of their children ???
See I will not say what my mom did was wrong because her intension was in the right place.. infact her words ignited the fuel inside me. (She knows how to use the reverse psychology)

Also marks can be improved by either ways but why we adopt the strict one all the time???

JUST TAKE A MOMENT AND THINK ABOUT IT.
(Cuz your whole life must have faced this scenario once in your life).

Also share your opinions on this story.

The Rapid Fall of Rashism

The vile ones strike Kharkiv again —
Hit the dorms, the towers, the heat.
The RuZZian swarm is drunk on disdain,
But doom crawls in on stealthy feet.

That Pootin, the dwarf full of lies,
With his doubles and rotten parade,
Sent a horde off to slaughter — surprise! —
Just more widows for mass cannonade.

Fools will rot in the soil they defile —
There’s no glory, no righteous fate.
“Poor conscripts,” some say with a sigh...
No! They’re traitors who marched with hate.

Their own land's been crushed by a boot,
By fascists in power — it bleeds!
They should fight for their roots and their truth —
Not commit filthy war crimes and deeds.

The vile ones strike Kharkiv again.
Where are “Nazis”? In power plants, right?!
Let the battlefield settle the claim —
Rashism will drown in the light.



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




They bomb the weak — and boast with pride.
But Death’s already on their side.
Rashism’s hour ticks away —
And Hell prepares a grand buffet.



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



Fascism

A fascist regime —
A monkey’s *******.
The **** rages loud —
Where Reason is cowed.
No lower to fall —
It’s Hell’s very maw.
The idiots reign,
Their nature — pure pain.
And evil’s parade
Becomes the “new grade.”

Is that what you sought?
You waited for what?!
Kept silent, half-dead,
Let lies rot your head.
Your soul’s in your heel,
You forgot how to feel.
The liars, the beasts —
Their falsehoods don’t cease.
To be honest? A fight.
To be wise? Full of fright.
To stare at this plague
Demands nerve, not vague.
But truth has its cost —
Responses get lost,
Or sneak 'neath the skin —
Corruption within.

Then search for a door —
From Hell’s filthy core.
For mind's decomposition
Leads straight to perdition:
To beasts, to submission.



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




When reason is slain and the liars rejoice —
The beast is unleashed, and silence — your choice.
Want out of this hell? Then sharpen your voice.
Or rot with the herd, without will, without voice.



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



Execution

Collective Pootin — the plague,
Cops and doctors turned thugs.
All this filth — the whole brigade —
Drives one mad with rage and shrugs.

But this “people”? They’re not brave —
Just submissive, beaten down.
Those who rise are sent to graves,
While brute force still wears the crown.

Only loss upon the field
Can restore a shred of grace.
Till then, in decay they yield —
Rotting in a sunless place.

Can’t endure this filth and fear —
Pootin, cops, their soulless games.
This is not a life — it’s clear:
EXECUTION cloaked in names,
Turning humans into swine,
Step by step — by grand design.



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




It's not a life — it's slow damnation,
A beast parade, a fake "nation".
To rise, they need a war’s defeat —
Or rot beneath Pootin’s deceit.



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




The Kremlin ****

The Kremlin **** — so vile, so loud —
Mocks the beaten, broken crowd.
Filth on high, and down below —
Half the land’s a madman show.

First — the fake disease parade,
Then — the war, its next charade.
Now the country hits the floor —
Rot, collapse, and nothing more.

It’s them — the **** — or those who bleed.
There’s no third path, no noble creed.
If you bow and call it “fate,” —
You're helping monsters seal the state.



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




The **** still rules, the herd still crawls —
Through lies and war their empire sprawls.
No hope remains while cowards kneel —
Just rot and chains, and “make it real.”



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



Censorship

The "free world" sinks in censorship —
Like filth within a clogged-up drain.
Thick fascist skin — can't take a slip,
Even thought now brings them pain.

A war is raging in the mind,
But Reason’s last stronghold has died.
They dumb us down, they’ve redefined
What’s “sacred” — hollow faith and lies.

Fake virtue floods the public square,
While chains grow tighter on the soul.
True knowledge? Banned. No one dares care —
Just junk that sweetens mind control.

No filter for the mindless trash,
But truth gets gagged without regret.
No art remains — just plastic flash,
And sugar-coated brain-debt.

So seek the answers all alone —
Let sharpness be your inner guide.
This world’s a swamp of fear and drone,
Where chaos rots the soul inside.



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




They ban the truth, but feed you lies —
Sweet poison dressed in moral guise.
So think — or rot beneath the weight
Of fear, control, and fake debate.



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



The Sacred Glue

Obedience — the sacred glue.
All else is mocked, dismissed as fake:
Like honor, truth — outdated too,
In this dumb world the tyrants make.

Their “sacred realm” is off the chart —
A madhouse for the brain-dead mass.
The stench of lies infects the heart,
It’s piled so deep you cannot pass.

No way to climb out from the dump —
Just rot beneath the filth and fog…
Or get detained by beasts who hunt —
The cops, the jailers, savage dogs.

They drag you off to war or cell
If you resist their sacred chain.
The “glue” is just a prison shell
For dimwits who embrace the pain.

To think is now a deadly sin
Inside this world of chains and screams.
Their “glue” — no meaning lies within.
It’s Hell for fools who live on dreams.



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




“Sacred glue” of state? Obey —
Or cops will drag your soul away.
No truth, no honor — just decay,
And herds of fools who call it “way.”



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



FuckYandex and Googlecrap

FuckYandex, Googlecrap — for the fascist crimes
They must be tried with the Putler slime.
Censorship’s rule is far worse than ******:
With poisoned minds, it's easy to **** ’em.

Their bot-boys will “rate” every line you write,
Scan every comment — or bug it at night.
It’s torture by silence, by bans, by distortion —
LIES! now rule Earth like a sick *******.

That’s why FuckYandex and all their spawn,
From lowliest clerk to the top-level pawn,
Are complicit in war — in all that’s been done.
They sell us fake words — and Truth? There is none.

The price they demand? Your freedom, your mind.
Your soul in a cage they gladly will bind.
FuckYandex’s pit — the higher you climb,
The more you shovel: war, plagues, and crime.

For the top — a bullet. For the rest — a cell.
And they all helped build this digital hell.



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




Censorship kills — it sharpens the knife.
Google and Yandex? Co-authors of strife.
They traded the truth for profit and pride —
So jail every bot and let justice decide.



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



The Maestro

A piston ride from Hell to Hell —
This engine roars, it never sleeps.
The longer in it you dwell —
The deeper into filth it seeps.

"Progress"? Just a blot and stain.
No Reason left — just tricks and flair.
Putler's bluff sets the refrain,
A double, too — his hollow stare...

Like mastodons, once strong, extinct,
Truth's bones lie buried in the grime.
Now size means lies, not what you think —
And truth is punished as a crime.

Today’s “maestro”? Brazen fraud —
With horns that grow, if not in flesh.
He lies with confidence, not awe —
And that’s the mark of modern “best.”



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




The modern “great” is proud to bluff,
His lies are bold, his tone is tough.
From Hell to Hell we ride this path —
Where truth is lost, and gods just laugh.



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



Kinda Hell

A screen-made diva —
Then came the “fever.”
Next — monsters rise,
Sharp-tongued with lies.

The diva’s now gone,
Just fake going on.
Fake states, fake names —
And fascist games.

They’ll fake a famine,
Bring frost and cannon.
A lovely war
To lie some more.

Goodwill’s erased,
The world’s disgraced.
Bye, diva, fake spell —
Now welcome to Kinda Hell.



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




Fake queens and fear — then war and fire.
They sell us doom, dressed in desire.
The mask is off, the lies all fell —
What’s left is ****. And kinda Hell.



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



Sociopaths and Degenerates

A hyper-charged
sociopath —
Crawled from the dark
with twisted wrath.

The ****** freak,
the heartless brute —
They run the world,
while the mute,
the dumbed-down herd,
serve on their plate —
A feast of fools
the beasts call fate.

And what’s a feast?
It means: devour.
Degenerates?
They bloom each hour.
The table’s set — the ghouls don’t rest,
There’s endless meat
for endless pests.



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




The freaks now rule, the weak obey —
They feed the beasts and fade away.
A world devoured by soulless rats —
Run by psychos and sociopaths.



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



Arrival and Struggle

Dragging “forward,”
“Hoping for best.”
Arrival — chaos,
No place to rest.

Surrounded tight
From every side.
Like wolves? No — the dog’s
Decay inside.



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




Crawling ahead with hope so thin,
But chaos waits where we begin.
Surrounded, torn — no peace, no throne —
Decay’s the dog, and we’re alone.



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



The Idiots


Idiots,
Existence —
They’ve ****** it all away.
“My own life” —
Nothing but decay,
Dirt, fear, forgetful sway.
And harvest —
Food to prey —
Almost gone... Oh, ****, the fray.



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




Idiots lost what life could be,
Just rot, fear, and obscurity.
The harvest eaten, none remains —
Their world dissolves in filth and chains.



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



Dyrkin

Girkin —
Holes —
Wants to patch them with meat.
Doesn’t care —
**** more to repeat.
To hell with the cost,
The whole Kremlin will hang at the last post.



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




Patch holes with blood, he calls the shots,
Killing more — ignoring costs.
But in the end, the traitors’ fate —
The noose awaits at freedom’s gate.



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



Search Cage — Googlecrap, FuckYandex, and the Rest

Censorship and propaganda —
Nothing more than “search engine” drama.
A startup gang, a worm inside,
That spreads and digs where truths must hide.

It generalizes simple things,
Creates illusions, false beginnings.
Pretends there’s search — but lets decay
All that triggers get swept away.

A “trigger” flags the banned, the banned,
Hides problems, silences the stand.
Excludes, deletes, or sinks it deep —
So no forbidden thought can creep.

“Economic cattle” — prime example.
Research galore, but too much sample
Is banned for old-school pioneers —
Too vile, too harsh for their ears.

So all your queries get reduced
To freak shows in this twisted noose.
Only safe answers come around —
Fed by fools who ask unsound.



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




They censor truth and bury thought,
Their “search” a trap, with lies well wrought.
Ask wrong, you’re lost inside their cage —
A grotesque, rigged digital stage.



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



The Steamroller

Across the land, a steamroller rides —
A beast that crushes all it finds.
Submission’s crown, the ****’s success,
Where fools and liars rule the mess.

They press with fear, with greed, with lies,
A darkness thick as endless skies.
All turns to dust beneath their reign,
The ******* grow more bold again.

A darkness built of traitors’ breath,
Fascism’s shadow, death by death.
Forgetfulness and hopeless cries —
Satan’s hand that rules and lies.

It rots and twists both flesh and bone —
But break the gears, and shake the throne.
The Earth will tremble, blaze the night,
The sun will scorch fascist blight.

With slavery’s chains destroyed at last,
The masters fall — their era passed.
No more to turn the free to beasts —
No more to feed the slaves’ cruel feast.



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




The steamroller crushes lies and fear,
But break its gears — the end is near.
The sun will burn fascist flame —
And free the world from tyrant’s shame.



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



Fascism Cubed

There was the sheep virus,
Now war’s on stage.
Reason takes a hit,
Evil’s cubed in rage.

Souls are the price —
Why cube, you ask?
Hunger grows sharp,
As that oak grows cracked.

A slave-born breed,
Enduring all pain.
Like a flood that sweeps,
Evil breaks the chain.

There was the sheep virus,
Now war’s the game.
Brains are blown out —
Truth’s cheap, with no name.



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




Sheep once infected, now war’s the rule —
Reason crushed, evil’s triple fuel.
Slaves endure while darkness thrives —
The price is souls, the cost: our lives.



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



Fascist Cops

We sow no seeds, build no lands —
We serve as dogs for Kremlin bands.
Armed with fascist ranks and fear,
Cowards crawling, vile and queer.

They strike at students, old and frail —
“Cosmonauts” with brutal hail.
Monsters serving filthy power,
No care for curses in this hour.

Fascism crumbles, history shows —
The fallen reap what evil sows.
The ones who brought the world such pain
Are met with justice, clear and plain.

Punishment fits crimes so dark —
The ice beneath these **** will crack.
Retribution comes in time —
The end of tyranny’s cold crime.



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




Fascist dogs with coward’s bite,
Crushing youth and old alike.
History will make them pay —
Ice grows thin beneath their sway.



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



The Human Edge

There’s a limit to patience —
The edge of a man’s soul.
Cross it — corruption’s
The spirit’s cruel toll.

Decay of the mind
Will surely follow.
The soul’s final fall —
A hollowed shadow.

Satanic filth will rise
To stand before us.
Slave patience ends —
They’ll turn to beasts among us.



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




Patience breaks — corruption spreads,
Minds decay, and souls lie dead.
Satan’s filth will claim the day —
When slaves become the beasts’ prey.



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



...It Creepily Approached

Doom crept up soft and slow —
Critical thought erased,
Sticky fear began to grow,
Long submission traced.

A broken fool emerged —
Logic gone, soul shrunk tight.
Personality diverged,
Fading out of sight.

Decay goes on its way,
Till man dissolves in lies.
Resistance crushed to clay —
Gone, under darkened skies.

Soon slavish beasts appear,
Ready for anything grim.
Brainless creatures ruled by fear,
Lost in endless dim.

And obedient vermin herd
Are driven to the ****.
War and filth — the deadly word,
Burning all with will.



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




Doom sneaks in, thought fades to dust,
Man dissolves in lies and rust.
Slaves become the beast’s own prey —
Burned and lost along the way.



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



First Ones

“Someone’s gone off to a contest in Varna,
While I’m stuck just a block away.
‘Come on, girls!’ ‘Come on, boys!’
They all rush first — it’s madness at play!”
— Vladimir Vysotsky


“Come on, boys” — now locked in the doghouse —
Filthy cops and the prosecutor’s fangs.
“Come on, girls!” at the station's dark corners,
Selling bodies for Kremlin’s gang.

Today, the first is a thief of the worst kind,
Others just grime fit for slaughter’s hand.
A bucket of filth — you have to devour:
That’s fascist war’s vile command.

A few stand firm — the fighters alone.
They’re the last — all pushed down below!
More often they bathe in blood unknown,
While one stinking pile claims the show.



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




The first are thieves and ****** alike,
While few resist the creeping strike.
Blood stains the last who stand their ground —
As filth and lies keep spreading ‘round.



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



Disposal of Bio-Waste

Bio-waste disposer —
Now disputed honor stands
For the Armed Forces’ fight.
****’s forced to crawl from orcish lands.

A normal man won’t bomb or ****
Kids on highways as they ride.
Scoundrels all! They’ll pay the bill —
Justice soon will turn the tide.

A decent soul won’t shell the homes
Of neighbors, hospitals, or towers,
Driven mad by fascist drones,
And lies that poison peaceful hours.

All the fascist “iron tongues”
Spew their lies and sow the strife.
But the Forces will burn their **** —
In Bucha, fury’s come to life.



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




Bio-waste dragged to meet their fate,
**** who bomb and desecrate.
Lies may roar, but truth will rise —
Justice burns in angry eyes.



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



Cops, or The Whip and the Carrot

Twist the screws — everywhere, always —
To please the masters’ cruel game.
Keep the people bound in haze,
The whip’s for those who bear the shame.

But better still — the carrot’s sweet —
Cops get treats by their own code.
Not enough for all to eat —
Some must bear the heavy load.



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




The whip cracks down, the carrot’s given —
To keep the crowd subdued, driven.
Not all get sweets; some take the pain —
The cruel game goes on again.



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



Death to the Rot!

Propagandists to the wall —
The only way to break
The world’s dark prison hall,
This nightmare we must shake.

These fiends feed lies nonstop,
Bold lies that grow and spread.
To let the chaos drop —
Multiply their poison spread.

The sheep virus, plain and clear —
Just lies and lies again.
A mindless flock, gripped by fear,
Junk fills their brains like rain.

The world’s become a madhouse now:
Just howls, and howls, and howls.
Cunning liars take their bow —
Then lead us to the slaughter.

Propagandists to the wall,
Fascists all to the noose.
No mercy for their crawl —
Death to rot — the sole excuse!



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




To the wall, the liars go,
Their lies bred pain and woe.
Fascists fall beneath the rod —
Death to rot, the cleansing sword.



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



Putler and ******

Putler seeks to fulfill
******’s vile plan.
A weak twin — no skill —
What can come from such a man?

Gray ******* stand behind,
They’ll **** themselves in fear.
No jokes now — the time’s aligned —
To purge the fascist smear.

They’ll hunt them down, all ****,
And justice will be served.
But those faces, full of glum,
Lie, and lie, and swerve.

Only here has ******
Been truly surpassed.
But lies won’t save from final
Shots fired fast.

Delirium and chaos spread,
The people torn apart.
Super-lies have done their dread —
Freedom’s fire burns their heart.



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




Putler’s plan is ******’s clone,
A weakling ruling from a throne.
Lies won’t save the fascist breed —
Justice comes with final deed.



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



Super-Duper

Super-ego,
Super-g­reys,
Super-mice —
That’s the craze!
Mice are many,
Brave ones few,
Truth is softer
In Evil’s view.



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




Super-ego, super-grey,
Super-mice that fade away.
Truth is quiet, courage small —
In the world where evils call.



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



Putler’s Speeches

Mad speeches by the caudillo,
Compiled from ******, Goebbels’ scroll.
Kremlin’s roofs all spring a leak —
While sheep are duller than Teutonic folk.

History repeats as farce,
Madness wildly overflows.
The god of war once wore Mars’ scars —
Now Set rules, whose madness grows.



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




Putler rants in twisted play,
Echoes of dark **** ways.
Madness grows, the past returns —
As war’s dark flame still fiercely burns.



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



Let There Be Light?

"Let there be light!" said the old electrician,
And cut the wires with cold precision.
Common folk are just like trash,
In darkness herds keep moving fast.

And growing still this veil of night —
A rising tide of blind despite.
They’ll teach you only filth and lies:
Believe in Evil — then you die.

False religions cloak their sin,
Satan’s mask worn thin within.
False science plants its rotten trees,
Spreading cretinism with ease.

The “tree of knowledge” — all a lie,
Material hell where spirits die.
The fool cries, “Don’t touch my gain!
I gladly serve this twisted reign.”

To multiply “knowledge” when
The Pure Spirit’s wiped from ken —
Breeds only ignorance, and breeds
A flock of Satan’s cursed seeds.

Find your primal, sacred face,
Given before ignorance’s place.
And never yield, nor bow, nor fall —
Or else you lose your soul and all.



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



Nonsense Questions and False Answers

To sort it all on shelves,
To prune it all quite small —
What stops them? Scoundrels lie,
Deceiving one and all.

So-called simplification —
Is worse than theft outright.
Excluding Spirit’s essence —
Denies the core of light.

They crave one single truth —
A fool’s dull final score.
Evil’s many tasks —
Stupidity their core.

To **** the Spirit too —
Just another scheme:
Become a dung-fly’s slave —
Your own executioner’s dream.

If you believe their lies,
Submit to Evil’s call,
You open gates to Satan,
The Horned One’s dark hall.

Falsehood’s vast dominion —
A school for this they build.
Consciousness trampled down —
False answers all fulfilled.

No questions left to ask,
Yet answers stand prepared —
From verbal diarrhea
Comes damage undeclared.

This world, they say, depends
Not on us or our minds.
If brains have gone to mush,
Emotions are their binds.

Fumes and miasmas spread —
A global haze of lies.
All’s gone mad in this world —
Ill minds wear the disguise.

The whole world now’s a target,
Held hostage by deceit.
Step out of line — they’ll shoot —
Their aim cold, sharp, and fleet.

So “unchanging” postulates —
Are but a web of lies.
The sun, a raging force,
Destroys their dark disguise.

Darkness miscalculated —
Light grows beyond their law.
Burning every stump —
Their reign will meet its flaw.

Reason works, like Earth,
Clearing madness from the land.
Insane must leave this world —
Like lice at Earth’s command.

False “laws” built on lies —
This crooked, lying sphere,
For fools and loudmouths alike —
The end of lies is near.

The time of burning’s come —
Beyond deceitful schemes.
Spirit’s decay ends now —
And justice follows dreams.



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




Nonsense questions, false replies,
Lies that blind and truth that dies.
Light breaks through the darkest night —
Justice comes to end the blight.



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



Bread, Spectacles, and… Incantations

Here reign the INCANTATIONS,
The trigger for the dogs’ reactions.
“Attention!” — and straight in line,
All march dumb in dull decline.

Enough experience to see —
You’re trapped inside a hellish spree.
Like test rabbits, we’re all caught,
But rabbits sane, at least, have thought.

The madness vast, if summed and weighed,
Consciousness here’s a beastly shade.
Animal minds rule the day —
Nearly all lost their way.

Don’t listen, don’t respond,
Seek answers deep and far beyond.
Register thoughts, but stay composed —
No twitching saves you from exposed.

It saves your mind and your awareness,
Reactions keep you chained in madness.
Spirit tortured, trapped on hooks,
Escape is light, if you unhook.

Clear your Reason of the heaps
Of brazen lies — poisoned heaps.
The “school’s” aim is all too plain —
To dull the minds and dull the brain.

To sink the spark of the Creator,
Pollute the minds to feed the traitor.
But calling terror by its name
Is banned — they twist the terms and shame.

Where “civilization” howls, beware!
Sharp ears catch the counterfeit air.
Under masks of “good and right,”
Lies and evil cloak their blight.

These are the games they always play
In worlds of “wise” fools led astray,
Where fiends spew lies with cunning skill,
The base of “sound ideas” they ****.

So all “revolutions” fake,
“Reforms” just chains that bind and break.
Constitutions, empty cheer —
Distractions for a duller sphere.

That “bread” is poisoned, shows the state,
And “spectacles” for fools await.
Yet fools devour with eager greed —
Their lies send them to death’s stampede.

And at the core — the incantations,
The master of the fog’s creations.
Awareness minimal, so why
Do fiends hold power, rule, and lie?

Expand your consciousness each day,
Multiply your spirit’s ray.
Or else you’re just a sheep for slaughter,
Or vegetable — their twisted fodder.

Their poisoned crop won’t grace a show:
They’ll burn, trample, feed it low.
The harvest all is tainted, dead —
Consumed by vermin, lies instead.



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




Incantations start the flow,
Lies that chain the mind below.
Grow your spirit, break the cage —
Or fall to darkness, slave of rage.



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



Ceilings

The ceiling presses heavy on your head —
This burden’s always hanging near.
And people soft as molten lead —
That’s why the misery is here.

That ceiling — false “knowledge” forced inside,
Pushed hard into your mind’s dark stall.
Like lambs we march, no place to hide,
Just fodder for the mind’s grim call.

Fears and hatred, vile creations,
Breed darkness, artificial blight.
This world is drunk on lies’ temptations —
Propaganda leaves its blight.

That PRESS will push the ceiling down,
Fascism’s “law” will soon decree
That all will bend beneath the crown,
And poisoned books fill this lunacy.

Dumbing down and schizophrenic haze
Are raised to norms, the chosen way
To drag us to Hell’s stagnant maze.
Few humans left at end of day.

A new breed — servants, dull and bleak,
They’ve taken all the posts and roles.
But lies alone make power peak —
For beasts, we’re cattle, not souls.

This stupid herd is driven to slaughter —
And now it’s started, clear and loud.
We bear the horror — we deserve no other.
The prophet’s words have formed a cloud:

Nine sick have paved the way to health,
They call it CowID — the new stealth.
And creatures craft new false diseases,
Like once again, the “AIDS” thesis.

Nine-tenths are mentally broken,
The last too weak to fight the yoke.
Against the cursed fascist token,
They’re dumb, enslaved, and tightly choked.

They crushed all life beneath the mass.
Only carcasses will pay.
If you don’t fight, life’s chance will pass —
You’re just a broken soul, decayed.

Build your commune, smash the lies,
Seek fresh paths to save your soul.
The beasts have learned old tricks and spies —
So tread new roads, regain control.

The Light is hard — the Hell is near —
That’s why the **** rage so and shout.
Though dark and scary, fight your fear —
With Spirit’s link, you’ll break their rout.

Pure Spirit is our fortress, rock.
The ceilings fall like crumbling floors.
A mighty cataclysm will knock,
And sweep away the rotten sores.

A new world — Spirit’s dimension —
Will come to those who save their soul.
To fools, this’s only rumor’s mention —
Let them laugh: the fool’s Hell’s goal.



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




Ceilings press, false knowledge spreads,
Minds are fodder, Spirit dreads.
Fight the lies and find the Light —
Or fade away in endless night.

Discrimination—
It didn’t begin with Varna, nor with apartheid's chains,
But within the four walls, where love should reign.
Not in the laws, or ancient scrolls,
But in whispered tones, in measured roles.

At home, it begins—subtle, sharp, and sly,
When praise is uneven, and questions fly:
"Why aren’t you fair like her?" "Why don’t you grow tall?"
As if worth is measured by looks, that’s all.

It hides behind laughter, yet cuts like a sword,
When money decides if you're cherished or ignored.
When beauty’s a ticket, and silence is gold,
And kindness is punished, while pride is bold.

We talk of religion, region, caste and creed,
Of outer divides that the papers read.
Yes, they are real, and rightly fought,
But what of the wars at home, left to rot?

What of the brother who’s called "lesser than"?
The sister mocked for not fitting their plan?
What of the friend who never speaks out,
Because love was withheld, replaced with doubt?

The world fights battles the eye can see,
But the heart bleeds in secrecy.
For no law can change a mother’s choice,
Or the unkind edge in a father’s voice.

And those who suffer, suffer alone,
With pain too quiet to be known.
No marches held, no banners flown—
Just broken spirits, fully grown.

So before we chase the global wrongs,
Let’s listen to our own home's songs.
For the worst kind of hate is the one unspoken,
And the deepest wounds are the ones left open.

"Home is where love should begin, not comparison"