Соломон одевал Доспехи, НаголО пиздаватый Меч! С гор спускались мысли-абреки — Пришло время — гОловы с плеч. Налицо цвета хаки и смокинг, Зверел, поднимался со дна, Ну, встречайте стадА — мистер Джокер, ДВА кинжала, калаш и Луна.
Yaroslav Kulikovsky. Paris, 2024 (c). Part of the cycle: Poems on City Flesh and Power.
This poem is an anthem to the inner warrior. Solomon, the Joker, the mountain rebels, and the Moon merge into one figure — a hero unafraid to be himself. His armor is his own style; his weapon, wit and will. He doesn’t ask for approval — he asserts presence. Individuality isn’t a mask. It’s armor. And you don’t take it off.