Civilians lie, annoyingly dead,

Innocent prey of the enemy’s sport,

While wannabe gods in Washington cry:

‘You losers! We told you. It's all your fault.’

Others in Ukraine, spared till now, await

A shabby, hardly necessary fate,

And wriggle in the web where they are caught.

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A cemetery, you may think, but

No bodies lie beneath, just roots;

No unattested arms remain,

No pairs of sweaty, unclaimed boots.

 

Quite soon there will be vines and grapes,

And then the succulence of wine;

No trace of blown-off body parts,

Detached by shell shot or by mine.

 

The volunteers who tend the place

Sense no souls planted underground;

They prune and ...

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In a calculated spectacle, Trump and Vance sought to humiliate Zelenskyy before the press, twisting truth into propaganda. Their goal? To paint Ukraine as ungrateful, to justify betrayal, and to sell capitulation as "peace." Behind them loomed Putin, tightening his grip as Trump bent to his demands. This wasn’t diplomacy—it was deception, staged for the American people and the world.

 

Tru...

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There are no allies any more,

No friends, no foes,

No right, no wrong,

No good, no bad;

Just bully boys who'll take you

For everything you had.

 

 

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Today, three years ago, Russia launched its brutal invasion of Ukraine, shattering peace and unleashing a wave of destruction. Towns were levelled, lives torn apart, and a nation thrust into an endless struggle for survival. Despite the relentless violence, Ukraine remains unyielding, its people refusing to surrender. The world has watched as the cost in blood and suffering continues to rise, and ...

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This poem reflects the urgent and growing tensions Europe faces—internally divided and externally threatened. With rising dangers from Russia, China, and a shifting American stance, it paints a vivid picture of the consequences of inaction.

Europe, listen—time runs thin, The storm is howling, wars begin. Trump builds walls, his hunger grows, Grabs at lands where cold wind blows. Not jus...

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They no longer carry coins.

They have wads of notes to spare,

But their instinct is to throw crumbs,

Or bits of half-eaten sandwiches.

They tell you to perform

One of those cute local dances,

Or to sing ‘Streets of London’,

Or playing a tune on the violin.

Or better still, sit up and beg,

Say how goddam grateful you are,

And hand over anything you’ve got,

Explainin...

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As the Trump-Musk regime steers the U.S. into the arms of dictators, Europe stands at a crossroads. This poem is an outcry against betrayal, against backroom deals that sell out Ukraine, against the glee of China as it eyes Taiwan, and against the creeping infection of authoritarianism within Europe's own borders. Curtis Yarvin’s sick vision—a world where democracy is crushed under the boo...

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The Sunshine Boys are chatting on the phone;

They claim that they are both concerned with peace.

But one of them is raining down his bombs,

While body counts on both sides still increase.

 

The other one appears not to remember

Who started this barbaric slice of hell;

He treats the culprit as a valued partner

And seems to have been captured by his spell.

 

The victims...

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A time will come when we forgive,

Though that time is not yet;

But even when forgiveness comes,

None of us will forget.

 

We won’t forget the agony,

The sadness and the waste;

We won’t forget the insults hurled

With puerile lack of taste.

 

We won’t forget our cities wrecked,

Our soldiers blown to bits;

We won’t forget the fearful nights,

The lethal missile h...

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