في عصر قديم، عاشَتْ أسطورة موسى وشهيرة الشهيرة، الجميلة والأنيقة. لم تكن حياته مجرد قصة عادية، بل كانت كالحكايات الساحرة التي تجذب القلوب والعقول. ولد لهما ابن، سماه موسى، كما ورد في السجلات القديمة. ولكن هل كانت نهاية القصة؟ لا، بالطبع لا. لأن في عالم الخيال والحكايات، كل شيء ممكن، حتى السحر والمفاجآت الغير متوقعة. فلنتابع القصة ونرى ما الذي يخبئه المستقبل لموسى ولسعيه إلى السعادة في عالم سحري وخيالي
¡We🔥Come!
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It was a deadly and paralysing sect that destroyed Russia and plunged it deep into unspeakable misery. We must never cease proclaiming this fact as a warning to other nations in the world, and for the preservation of our own country. The Bolshevists are responsible for the catastrophe.
For Russia we can do little. The fearful series of events must run their course. One can only hope that some day in our own time deliverance will come to the Russian people and that they will stand again on their own feet and be masters in their own house.
Winston Churchill
November 4, 1920
For Russia we can do little. The fearful series of events must run their course. One can only hope that some day in our own time deliverance will come to the Russian people and that they will stand again on their own feet and be masters in their own house.
Winston Churchill
November 4, 1920
Monopoly on the Velvet Rope
Beneath the stars, the city hums,
A heartbeat where the lost succumb.
A club alive with pulsing sound,
Where harmony and loops abound.
The music grips the weary mind,
In rhythm’s trance, all thoughts unwind.
On the dancefloor, unity reigns,
Through flashing lights and hypnotic chains.
Cocktails spin their worlds unseen,
Each sip a key to dreams between.
Aesthetic peaks, illusions play,
As shadows flicker, night meets day.
The Watchful Gate
Yet this wonderland, its beating heart,
Is guarded well by those who chart
The psyches of the crowd below—
Inheritors of Beria’s shadowed glow.
Face controllers, sharp of eye,
See through masks and measure why.
Only those unafraid of the mirrored gaze,
Pass through the glass into neon haze.
How bitter it feels to be denied,
To stand alone on the darker side.
Untrusted, unknown, left in the street,
Where the pulse of the party cannot beat.
The Pirate Appears
From the shadows, like a fleeting wraith,
Comes a figure, sharp, with a Cheshire’s grace.
A pirate’s coat, in sequins bright,
Meets tousled hair and a smirk of night.
Eyes that gleam like stolen stars,
Boots that dance with club-scuffed scars.
A voice like velvet, teasing, sly,
Whispers secrets that make spirits fly:
“Why beg for their trust, their brittle mold?
Why bow to rules so harsh and cold?
There’s a treasure, an island of bliss,
A secret club where the rules dismiss.”
The Glowing Ticket
From his pocket, a ticket glows,
Far from the dull ration cards of woes.
Its shimmer promises more than delight,
A world untouched by authoritarian might.
“Here,” he says, “is your daring key,
To escape their chains, to truly be free.
But tread with care, for once inside,
The journey’s yours, no place to hide.”
The boy accepts, his heart alight,
And steps toward the unknown night.
The pirate grins, then fades from sight,
A guiding star for a bold new flight.
🦂✨🦍✨🦂
⁎⁎⁎ ⁎⁎⁎ ¡Инвалиды и участники ВОВ обслуживаются вне очереди! ⁎⁎⁎ ⁎⁎⁎
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Сталин выступает на съезде, кто-то чихает.
Сталин спрашивает: "Кто чихнул?" Никто не отвечает.
Берия приказывает расстрелять первый ряд. Снова никто не признается.
Берия приказывает расстрелять второй ряд.
Наконец, кто-то из задних рядов признается: "Это Я, товарищ Сталин."
Сталин: "Будь здоров, товарищ!"
Сталин спрашивает: "Кто чихнул?" Никто не отвечает.
Берия приказывает расстрелять первый ряд. Снова никто не признается.
Берия приказывает расстрелять второй ряд.
Наконец, кто-то из задних рядов признается: "Это Я, товарищ Сталин."
Сталин: "Будь здоров, товарищ!"
The Secret Portal
Beyond the glimmer of watchful eyes,
A hidden world, a paradise lies.
A place of whispers, a softer glow,
Where trust and kindness freely flow.
The music plays, just a touch more pure,
Its melodies a tranquil cure.
The drinks enchant with subtle art,
Each sip a balm to weary hearts.
But it’s the people who shape this place,
With open minds and unhurried grace.
No monopoly on trust binds here,
No chains of fear, no formal sneer.
Horizontal ties, unbroken, strong,
Leaders rise through deeds prolonged.
A merit of effort, a bond of grace,
Defines the rhythm of this sacred space.
The Paradise Threatened
Then, the music shifts—an ominous tone,
The tranquil haven, no longer alone.
Agents of Beria breach the gate,
To reclaim the trust they regulate.
Masks conceal their hardened gaze,
Symbols of rank, their badges blaze.
They brandish weapons, shatter doors,
Their presence chilling to the core.
The joyous crowd, once so free,
Now trembles at the hostility.
The Pirate’s Gambit
The pirate stands with steady face,
Eyes alight with daring grace.
"Follow me!" he calls with flair,
A path appears where none was there.
A rabbit’s warren, a secret way,
To slip the grasp of those who prey.
While agents linger, bound by chains,
The runners vanish through hidden veins.
Through twists of thought and corridors strange,
They flee the nightmare’s threatening range.
Through the Looking Glass
And there, beyond, the haven awaits,
Free of control, of iron gates.
A land of wonder, where characters dwell,
The Mad Hatter hums, the Cheshire tells,
The Queen of Hearts lays down her spells.
The White Rabbit dashes, his clock askew,
In a world reborn, surreal, and true.
Here lies peace, a fleeting dream,
But reality calls—life’s steady stream.
The Question of Alice
Oh, to remain in this gentle sphere,
But the waking world always draws near.
Only Alice can bridge the divide,
Carrying fragments to the other side.
Where is she now, this dreamer wise,
To bring back hope from mirrored skies?
A world awaits her guiding light,
To pierce the glass and end the night.
Through her, the dream may yet survive,
A brighter world, awake, alive.
