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Кобылки сходили с дистанции,
Ликовала только Констанция,
Кто-то стал ура-визажистом,
Колхозницей с мужем стилистом.
И только насосная станция
Неслась по тропе террористов,
В тапок к последней инстанции —
Хуяк — и в дамках с министром.

Yaroslav Kulikovsky. Kiev, 2019 (c).
Part of the cycle: Poems on City Flesh and Power.

👉 tiktok.com/@kulikovskyonthepunchline
👉 youtube.com/@KulikovskyOnThePunchline/shorts
This poem is like a riot at a fashion show. There are no weak characters here—only different strategies. Some drop out, some level up. But the heroine, after riding through the chaos, wins her game. It’s about a woman’s right not to be ideal, but to be effective. Not an angel, but a force of power.
Marwan Baytie Jul 27
I need no steel to make them yield.
My pen’s the sword, my truth the shield.
I conquer in silence, in stanzas and cries,
And write what no tyrant can shackle or buy.
A country with monarchy
Means you are no citizen,
Merely but a subject.
This fact you may try to reject,
Saying this & that
About statues & such
What limit royalties' powers.
Yet, I protest;
The influence granted
Over every facet of society
Is not something which can be limited
Through official legal means,
And rarely otherwise.
Things which pass through inheritance,
Things which pass through all types of channels,
Assets physical & otherwise -
Attributes rightly & not rightly earned.
And in weaker times
Or moments of crisis,
How easily any power limited
Can swiftly be regained.
And holding a royal position,
How easily these may be manufactured -
Crash, clash, ****:
By economics, by warfare, by afflictions.
Sometimes it's doing everything,
Sometimes it means not doing anything.
Orders are different,
As by the Order(s) who has given.

Where, when, checks & balances become insufficient.

In democracy proper,
We are free.
We are the people
Whom celebrate liberty.
Yet, our freedom
Is always at stake.
For in the same merit,
One has the liberty to take
Where & when that society is not properly regulated
Or is otherwise poorly protected & guarded.
Where likewise the law is no meadow,
In the democratic
We must all tend to the garden -
Lest all be overgrown & lost,
As El Dorado.
One tale ends
Where another's tail begins.
In that,
It's sink with ¹Atlantis
Or learn to swim.
Only give up the ******* ways of superstition
Or be prepared for to be nothing.

Where, when, checks & balances are insufficient.
1 - Plato's Republic
ProfMoonCake Jul 17
I have asked God for thousands of wishes,
None of them were you,
God is adamant too-
She says I’ll only grant the ones
that have no trace of you.
Cadmus Jul 17
🤴

Approach, dear dreamer, if you dare,
But know my skies hold thinning air.
My steps are stitched in woven flame,
My name, too sharp for lips of shame.

You came with hands of dust and thread,
A crown of noise upon your head.
No sword, no gift, no golden key,
Yet thought to tame a storm like me.

Did Daedalus forget to warn his son?
Even Icarus soared closer than you’ve done.
You chase the sun but dread the cold,
A heart too timid, a hand too old.

I dance where only giants tread,
I feast where lesser men have fled.
I wear the stars, I breathe the skies,
I kiss the sun where eagles rise.

So take this truth I lay in rhyme:
A throne too high commits no crime.
It’s built for those who carve through air
Not those who knock and gasp for prayer.

🤴
Footnote:
This poem is a declaration of unreachability - a message to those who approach greatness with presumption but without worth. It evokes mythological imagery (Daedalus, Icarus), not to flatter the dreamer, but to caution them: wings of wax and hollow pride won’t carry you where gods walk. The throne is not cruel for being high - it is simply not meant for the unready. This is not arrogance. This is altitude.
Mustafa Jul 16
School is beautiful, school is great
School provides us with an outlet , taps into our talent
School is where we learn new things and make friends
Friendships which some of us will carry well into adulthood

Were it not for school, where would we learn
And how would we know what we are good at
What we are not good at, what we  like, dislike
How would we learn tolerance and understanding

Tolerance and understanding  make us better human beings
Were it not for school, would we learn to read and write
Had they not gone to school, Dickens, Tolkien, and Twain
Would never have written the classics they did

School also teaches us the importance of numbers
Successful and rich people know their numbers
Money likes those who know their numbers
That's why the majority of people remain poor

School teaches us so many different things, so many
Some things help us in life, after school, others never to use
But knowledge is power, and its good to know
That we can stride out into the world with full confidence
This poem is about the importance of school.School is a beautiful experience we will carry into adulthood and beyond
Spicy Digits Jul 16
I ducked their axe
But not the slap
The belt strap
And again and again
The razorblade
To my inner thigh
Of little maps
Flesh wounds
Like roses
I built hot memories
Warm enclosures.
Now my body
Is safe
Though not from their faith
And again and again
I am still caged
But now with longer spells
Of sunshine awake.
“To be Powerless is to possess the mightiest state of being - For in that emptiness , lies the possibility of becoming anything”
Parvathi Jul 7
A woman dragged to court by her hair,
on her red tide —
torn and insulted — hey you,
look at her, and wipe your tears.

Was it blood or silence that spilled over her destiny,
chained her soul to the weight,
left to pain all alone?

Her five souls stayed mute —
for whose sake?

Whose verdict was her fate?
Whose vengeance was her life?
Who takes the blame for her pain?
Whose ego made her scars?

Men chose.
Men fought.
Men gambled.

But —
who was stripped?
Who got hurt?
Who bore the injustice?

She — Draupadi —
her tears, her strength, her wisdom —
shook the whole world like a storm.

Her rage, her wounds, her curse —
set fire to Kurukshetra.

She was the fire never meant to be unlit .
She was the mind that housed the might.
She got struck by fate,
but strengthened by faith.

Her face — as beautiful as the ocean,
her eyes — shining like pearls,
her hair — like the waves;
with unfathomable strength.
Echoing her power across generations,
praising her alluring soul —
isn't this the time to unleash the Draupadi in you?
This poem is not just about Draupadi — it is about every woman who has been silenced, stripped of dignity, and yet stood unbroken.
It’s a voice for those who burn quietly, who fight battles behind closed eyes, who carry rage as resilience.
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