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if someone described me as a broken glass i could agree,
There are graveyards of people who are alive,
One of them is mine,
Showered with wreaths of lies,
Visited by mockingbirds who sing a colorless lament of bliss now unknown
A portrait without a face,
A ghost without a spirit,
A phantom never feared,
An assassin who leaves no trace,
A song with no music and lyrics,
A form that was never mirrored,
I think my heart’s been beyond broken
by Israeli Zionists’ atrocities.
I want freedom in Palestine,
so there’ll be no more misery.
No highlights for 2023.
and each arrow
that pierces your heart
just a reason to feel alive
Newly elected, in more than 20 hours,
- I decided to read the lines of the prompter to everyone,
"Who is to blame?! - Tajik with Zelensky, mass
Am I the corpse that awaits the return of a spirit
Or the phantom that disappeared?
Am I the murderer who saw the blood on my hands; and on my face did smear it
Or the imitation that to the eye dead appeared?
Am I the bird who chirped in the wild forest
Or the observer that despises it?
Липка павутина тримає
Кінцівки асоціальної комахи.
Комаха наївно вважає,
Що вона не у фільмі жахів.
Голодний до щастя павук,
Показує яскраве життя -
the bile of thoughts
fuels hatred
indifference of action
fuels desire
I'm a writer,
A poet,
Screaming to the world that I exist,
I'm not a silent relic floating around,
Not some puppet to be fiddled with,
Not a sculptor's grotesque creation,
moss grows on a log.
it spreads and thrives.
if dry, it dies.
but this moss, never dies.
no matter how hot or dry,
it doesn’t die.
you kill a bug.
it’s ugly and disgusting.
It’s small but it’s still a threat.
to what? you don’t know.
it’s just disgusting.