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In the winds, old histories tossed, 
To speak of it, freedom that’s lost,
From the hill tops Dostoevsky screams aloud, 
Lost their God indeed, the proud.

Much can’t say but, tis I tell,
Where is this, that conflicts burst?
Stomachs pinch and throats dost thirst,
Justice they say but, lawless worst!

But who curses thee, if not Daímonaskratía,
Though! Good times borne and freedom reigns,
But from their necks, in truth hangs chains,
Those who spoke and spoketh well, now in silence shamelessly dwell,

All is well, contested and doubt,
Constant circles roundabout, circumferences drawn,
Endless scribs from dusk to dawn,
For now, I found, a philosophy be and deepened ground,

That once they screamed freedom wants,
The mask unveiled, these selfish taunts,
Mammon reaped a severe blow,
Lightening fell, to ground below,

There he sat in sloth and laze,
While he set the world ablaze,
Those Greeks, one said, a wisdom bunch,
What Wisdom! A Truth-less hunch,

Flesh to flesh they selfish lay,
Conceived in womb a diabolical bae,
I want what I want was thought of best,
Swollen with pride till their chest,

Mesmerized-worlds with their word,
Cultures revolted, a broken bird,
Time and time, she’s exiled so,
Safely preserved from all that’s low,

Of old a tyranny spoke,
All they know is what they poke,
But, cleverly hide’s the truth away,
Of kings and queens did, till day,

Spoke not of sacrifice and of love,
Ready to point out, that faltered dove,
Gold did seem, a clever glaze,
Behold in silence, a violence blaze,

You are right and so am I,
That I so much, so much of I,
Thus, soul in chains, wales and cry,

Away from all this hate, for true freedom lies in love been shared,
If so not done, behold be scared!,
Solzhenitsyn warns a Gulag-born,
Endless toils from dusk to dawn,

Called now to rise, this Great Bird of May,
Out of exile come it thee, O pure, A’ White Lily,
Rise up and hold the banner of truth,
Of True oneness by love for its root'h!

Tis must told, as the prophet said,
A wedge between the old and bled,
Before this a predecessor rise,
Holds fast to his laws and justice and wise,

Now we wait while dost did groups,
This mighty Qaghan of Eurasian troops,
Rise O’ Eurasia, a Banyan tree,
Where birds of all, nests in thee.

Jealous of you, they plot thy fall,
Fall shall you, in time to come,
But one thing must be said of you’s, a seed must die thus life renews,
Be not afraid thy fortress hold, face this wicked whole wide world,

His Kingdom Come, His will be Done!
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