Выдуманные вирусы

рВачи и барановирус

"Врачи" чудесные в романах,
А в сериалах — так отпад.
Но... шмурдяком колоть баранов
Сумеет лишь отпетый гад!..


Вариант третьей строки: Но гадостью колоть баранов



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Выдуманные "вирусы"

Мензурка "вирусом" полн`а —
Он виртуальный. Днесь война
С Разумностью: достигли Дна
Под вой "научного" Говна.



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Война
До Дна
Всех опускает —
Под Ложью идиот лажает:
"Врагов" придумать не проблема,
А убивать днесь не дилемма.



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Редкая Поэзия для Редких Людей

Природа, "дружба", с`юси-м`уси,
К убогой "родине" "любовь" —
Поэзия для глупой гнуси.
Для Редкого: вскипает кровь

Когда от Слова, ум повергнув
В сильнейший шок, стряхнув Маразм,
Иль к Осмыслению подвинув
Чрез парадокс или сарказм, —

Вот Настоящая Поэзия.
Она редк`а, как редок Ум,
В котором идиосинкр`азия
На идиотский мира шум.


Вариант второй строки: К постылой "родине" "любовь" —




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Приднестровский фашистский режим

Вонючий режим, где все пенсии мизер —
Названье меняй на "кошель гробовых"!
Там мент господин — опустившийся изверг.
Народец убогий там выжат как жмых.



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Greedy Crooks and the Mutton "Virus"

In books, the doctors shine like gold,
On screens, they're heroes, brave and bold.
But only snakes, corrupt and sly,
Would jab the sheep and watch them die!..



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Fabricated "Viruses"

A vial’s filled with "virus" fake—
Illusion, nothing real to take.
The war’s on Reason—make no mistake,
Drowned out by "science" loud and fake.



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War

Drags all
To fall,
Deception reigns—
And fools obey its twisted chains.
"New foes" are crafted on demand,
No second thoughts to strike or stand.



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Rare Poetry for Rare Souls

Soft love for “homeland,” sweet embrace,
Of “friendship,” nature—empty grace.
Such rhymes for mindless crowds are spun,
But Rare Ones feel their blood outrun—

When words, like thunder, strike the brain,
And shatter folly’s dull domain,
Or force reflection, sharp and keen,
Through paradox or scorn unseen.

This True Poetry is rare to find,
As rare as Thought—unique, unchained,
Which loathes the noise of hollow minds
And to their folly stays disdained.



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Transnistria’s Fascist Regime

A rotten regime where the pensions are crumbs—
A grave-fund in name would be nearer the truth.
The cops rule like beasts, sinking lower than scum,
While people are squeezed till there’s nothing to lose.



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Rotten Chaos

Propaganda’s whores parade,
Far more rotten than the rest.
Ruthless gangs behind the shade
Keep the fools in blind duress.

Fools are plenty, whores aren’t few,
Gangs? Too many to be named.
Lies spread fast, deceit’s in view,
While the "ruler" plays his game.

No way forward, doomed to crack—
Rotten Chaos meets its fate:
Waves of madness, lies attack,
Blood and war—a twisted state.

CowID? Just a testing trick,
More fake plagues will soon arise.
With their poisons, strong and slick,
They’ll inject the world with lies.



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Cinema Propaganda

First, comes distraction—your mind drifts away,
Then filth creeps inside, while your thoughts fade to grey.
Reading the “news” is a tiresome chore,
But straight-shot deceit works much less than before.

So now they inject it through laughter and thrill,
Corrupting the weak with their venomous skill.
A dose at a time, till the mind’s stripped of all,
And nothing remains—just an echoing call.

But Nothing builds nothing—it crumbles, decays,
While rot is their goal through manipulative plays.
They dazzle, distract with their "stories" so grand,
While lies take deep root where you don’t understand.



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Propaganda—a Villains' Brigade

A gang of beasts—propaganda’s crew,
Yet theft’s not the prize they chase or pursue.
Their goal is far worse: to make the depraved
The "norm," while the world drifts into the grave.



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"The Path of the Cross"

They push the herd the cross to bear—
Its goal? Not faith, but pure despair.
"Humanism"—just a veil,
Hiding evil’s true detail,
Like a carrot for the frail.



--- Total 14 poems. ---