Self-Deception
Deceive yourself, you’re not a knight,
"Free will" is nothing but a fight.
You’re but a watcher of decay,
And in that role, you lead astray.
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Deceitful Words
Tilly-tilly, trally-trally,
What we claimed was love so wally—
We deceived ourselves, so sadly.
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The Power Divide
A bulldog's bite, a rhino's horn—
"Separation of powers" worn.
A sham, a trick, a wretched game,
In a world where people bring the shame.
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Masha, Masha!
Masha, Masha, joy divine!
For two, dear Mashunya toils and shines.
By morning, off to work she goes,
By night, she serves those she knows.
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Games of Deceit
Tilly-tilly, trally-trally,
Beat and brawl, they lied so badly.
Lies upon lies, they played their part,
In the puzzle of a broken heart.
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Blacksmiths of Stupidity's "Happiness"
The gloom of vice is far more sweet—
Darkness never leaves the mind’s retreat.
As for chains that bind from without,
Rust them, forge them anew, no doubt.
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The Way Out
There’s always a way, and usually
It’s where the entrance used to be.
But into darkness, you run foolishly,
Mind scattered, lost in misery.
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Supreme Control
Thunder, lightning—frozen, hanging,
Glitch in skies? Oh, that’s alarming!
If the news gets stuck mid-motion,
That’s a glitch with worse devotion.
Not a madhouse—call it cover,
"World’s top roof"—their name’s no other.
Now it’s sliding, slow and steady,
To the press—where power’s ready.
Politics? A clown’s dominion.
Media bends all opinions.
Crowds obey each sly persuasion—
Lies on screen spark blind invasion.
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Puzzles and Bruises
Tyrants love their wicked puzzles,
Boots of steel stomp down the street.
Cops and spies—corrupt and muzzled,
Praise the lie, their god of deceit.
They will break you, crush, and shatter,
Not for fun, but for a cause.
Random victims? Doesn't matter—
Devils think with shattered laws.
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Building the "Brighter Future"
The darker now, the brighter dawn—
That’s how the tyrants push their lies.
The deeper gloom they trample on,
The harsher toil for those alive.
With theories grand, they preach and plot,
Like Stalin, Pol Pot—strong in creed.
They scrawl their slogans—mindless rot,
And watch a nation burn and bleed.
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The Depths of Corruption, or The Label-Man
A polished look—that’s all they teach,
A branded world—stamped out like tin.
And “quality” stays out of reach,
Reserved for those who pay to win.
Bright labels shine, yet minds grow hollow,
Their worth’s not set by thought or deed.
That’s why it’s rare today to follow
A soul unmasked in depths of greed.
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The Minefield of False Life
"To live one’s life is not to stroll across a field."
— Proverb
A walk through a minefield—explosions all ’round,
Fools curse their fate with a cowardly sound.
They whine about dangers, their skins are so dear,
Yet live without courage—enslaved by their fear.
Deception and terror are packed in each mine,
The sappers are bribed, they will fall into line.
Fear makes you a beast, to the darkness you kneel,
And carry its judgment with zeal.
Deceived by the foe, you will turn on your own,
Destroying your soul as you march to their throne.
A lamb to the slaughter, you’ll run to their cage—
Your heart traded in for a wage.
The way out? Exploding each mine as you go,
To be your true self, not a beast they control.
Let liars keep lying—you laugh in their face,
And walk on with fearless embrace!
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"Brave New World"
Much to think about?
Nothing. Who would care!
Crunch your evening snack,
Watch the screen and stare.
See, a clever guy
Tells us what to do.
We won’t step in lies—
He explains it through.
We’ll defend our fate,
Smash the neighbor’s face,
March towards our great
Happiness embrace.
New rules shall arrive,
Old fools write them down:
"Serve your land—survive!
Throw your mind and drown!"
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Fake-News Feast
From the void, they craft a tale,
News spun out of empty air.
Eager fools, without fail,
Swallow lies without a care.
Mouths agape, they beg for more,
Never questioning the taste.
Truth, meanwhile, must break the door,
Struggling through a world debased.
Filth and stench of twisted presses
Choke the world in toxic smog.
Liars cheer—but time suppresses,
For their reign won’t last for long.
Soon the clock will strike them down,
Justice waits—its grip is tight.
Infernal lies will burn and drown,
Vanished into endless night.
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The Furry Ones
Winnie’s off to hunt for honey,
Nothing stops him on the way.
Rivers crossed and hills made runny,
God is "with the folks"—they say.
Rabbits dig their holes—how funny,
Let the bear enjoy his prey.
Sawdust packed inside his noggin,
Honey makes it smooth and light.
Once he rests—he starts the slogging,
Shouting loud with all his might.
Neighbors cringe but keep on nodding,
Not admitting wrong from right.
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Elephants and Curs
A cur can bark for hours on,
It’s all the strength it knows.
And when the yapping turns to throngs,
An elephant still bows.
They swarm, they bite—just some draw blood,
Yet still, the wounds run deep.
He falls, they cheer—a lifeless husk,
Another takes the leap.
And elephants grow fewer still,
While mongrels flood the way.
No fable here—those with the will
And Fire fade away.
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All Roads Lead to the Madhouse
The world is teeming with the mad,
Their numbers growing every day.
When fools and lunatics command,
All roads to Bedlam pave the way.
A fool or schizo walks beside you,
Though you may just be lost, not wild.
But reason barely dares to guide you—
Its voice is hushed where minds are blind.
And when its voice is lost for good,
The fate is sealed, the end is near.
So pull yourself, as best you could,
By reason’s hand from madness clear.
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Sheepish Democracy
Who will cut? It’s all a game,
The sheep choose blind, a chosen few,
The shearers’ clan, they stake their claim,
Their hidden power rings untrue.
The styles of cuts they all approve,
It’s still the watchful eye’s design.
The sheep, in bliss, they blindly move—
Dreaming of a freedom that’s not mine.
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Tuned to Nonsense
Tuning your ears to nonsense clear,
Tripling your gut’s instinctual fear,
Reworking all your critical mind,
You’ll find the Judas in the heroic kind.
Easiest of all—Pav Morozov,
From others, vile threats often shove:
"Sort the Pantheon—take your claim,
Place them all where none’s the same."
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Worship of the Horned One
Our Masha cries so loud and clear—
They lied to her about good cheer.
Treachery’s the key to rise,
For the horned one rules the skies.
Hush now, Masha, don’t you weep,
You’ll earn your bread, your gold to keep.
And serve him well, the one you bow—
Just bend and break beneath him now.
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Darkness is gunpowder,
Lies are the fuse.
Tolerate Moloch? —
You’ve got nothing to lose!..
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Burn! And burn without a trace—
That’s what became of many "grace."
All that's left is the stench of lies,
A filthy soul that never dies.
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The Distant Journey
The plague of words
From traitor swine
Calls the fools
To the Land of Lies, malign.
Now the guide is just a pawn,
Sent by the beasts—lost and gone.
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No More Thoughts
When there’s no more thought to ponder,
Only REACTIONS rise in you,
Put on your coat, your gear, and wander,
And heed the trumpet’s call anew.
"Enemies" will soon be found,
The more the fools, the better still.
Once they hid in holes, "unbound"—
Now in trenches, slaves they fill.
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God could not restrain the UGLY —
Now it's us who face the struggle.
Strength is fading, hope is thin,
And the minds grow dark within.
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Every century, every season,
Fools increase — and lose all reason.
No tomorrow, no clear way —
Just mad minds that go astray.
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They cure all lack of cash with money,
And sickness too — it isn’t funny.
Soon minds will get their safeguards done
With crypto sums in banks — well spun.
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Mindless Rot
The fools have made themselves at home,
And called their cesspit "parliament."
No brains — just guts and empty foam,
Their “laws” make zero, dumbfound sense.
They chant and chew, no thoughts to share —
Just mouths to feed and slogans loud.
Yet media dreams fill the air:
"Joy for all! No pain allowed!"
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The price of junk keeps climbing higher —
The world’s become a global mart.
While Conscience fades, its voice grows dire —
Cash is the god in every heart.
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They’re clearing out old myths and notions,
Like forests burned for cultured seeds —
The Devil’s lab-grown dark devotions,
Designed to serve his hidden needs.
And soon, not only food is tainted —
The mind itself is modified.
A “brave new world” will be acquainted
With thought suppressed, and Evil — dignified.
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The Building of Communism
"Make ploughshares out of every sword!" —
The fiends cried out to every fool.
Then from those ploughs rose no accord —
Just vanished lives and ruthless rule.
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So-Called “Russophobia,” or The Instinct of Self-Preservation
“Russophobia” — they claim —
Is just blind hate, without a cause.
But it’s defense from spreading shame,
From cargo-darkness, war, and laws.
They say it “lights up minds” with fire —
But does it light… or just incinerate?
A “Russophobe” is no denier —
Just keen to seal no fascist fate.
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The zombie-box will always win
Against the fridge — it works within.
It feeds with visions of delight,
And fattens herds without a fight.
They swell with pride and happy cheers
For “righteous paths” and hollow years.
Such are the traits, so plain to see,
Of modern propaganda — baaa from me!
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Our Masha cries out loud and long,
For as we go, it all goes wrong —
The fascist state grows more insane,
And women die, the blood, the pain.
Why bear a child in hell’s own name?
Men have degenerated, lost their aim.
No future left, no way to save —
Just standing at the edge, the grave.
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Our Masha cries out loud and clear:
"What will we leave for those who’re near?
Decay, deceit, and endless fears...
Shall we call our hospitals ‘Gears’?"
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The scaffold doesn't trust your tears...
Indifference, fear, and endless lies,
Submission, death, and fading skies.
If born upon the scaffold’s rise,
Forget the cries, the weak disguise.
Make fury the salt of your life,
And battle all the World’s great strife.
At last, with blood, your mark inscribe —
A signature: you won’t be snuffed alive.
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The Goose World
— Gadget! Gadget!
— Ga-ga-ga!
— Will it tell you lies?
— Yes-yes-yes!
— You can't fly with it, you see!
— Food, distraction, beasts — that's key,
And no need for Heights, just glee!
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Burrows
Arguments over food and space,
In the real world, we find our place.
But on the cover, looking grand —
A city rises, far from sand.
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The Beastly Mantra
"What can I do?!" — the mantra calls,
A chant from beasts behind their walls.
The inhumans, clever, play their part,
Replacing chains with lies at heart.
Together, they’ll spread falsehood wide,
And with our song, the truth will hide.
Our anthem’s done, the crowd’s insane —
By the majority, we’re bound in chains.
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The minds have lost their way, it seems,
And books of wisdom fade from dreams.
A wedge won't cure what’s torn apart —
Few books remain to heal the heart.
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Stuck Minds and Years of Running
A wedge won’t clear the mind's decay,
It only makes it worse each day.
Therapy won’t help the pain —
The shrinks are dull, it’s all in vain:
It’s not about health, but wealth,
Their aim’s to line their pockets stealth.
Running helps — though not always right —
You’ll need to run for years, not night.
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A quarter of the songs are sung,
The "choir’s line" is tightly strung.
Strangers can’t break through the sound —
Many fall, lost and unwound.
The "choir" here — propaganda’s crew,
A separate gang, with aims askew.
What’s unsung? It doesn’t fit —
The beastly goals, they won’t admit.
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Ice for Bruises
Running like snow that blankets ground,
It hides the wounds that still are bound
In hearts, offering a cooling touch —
Only to cold, the wounds clutch.
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In forest depths, where lies have strayed,
And weary from the chaos made,
Rest now — it’s far, far better still
Than thrashing 'midst the filth and ill.
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The ghost of communism
Wandered, then disappeared.
The demon of nihilism
Has now appeared, reared.
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— The herd demands both bread and shows.
— No, it's the people, you're speaking prose.
— If muzzles fit, then don't you see,
The pen’s the goal, we not be free.
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Pashka, Mashka, Sashka, Dashka,
Your lives are always off the mark,
If you believe the propaganda,
You’ll fall for Lucifer’s band dark.
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The gadget poisons kids’ minds —
Books are forgotten, left behind.
No paper’s touch, no scent, no sight,
Just screens that blind them day and night.
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Right on target!
Games. "Tigers" on the screen,
In a moment, blood's unseen.
Virtual wars, a cruel descent:
The goal — to crush the mind’s intent.
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The "Feast" at the Nursery
At the nursery, in tanks they play,
"Planes" are flying, children say.
In their youth, they're scarred and torn,
It’s time to end the hate reborn.
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All poems are located at address https://vykhovanets.yzz.me