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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required In a corner of the world, under an ink-colored sky, where the earth breathes of old and longing, Lies the country once called Romania, under the shadow of a silent and ruthless siege, The cloud of darkness slowly descends, a siege as old as the name it bears, An art of siege that knows no end, stretching its arms across all planes of life. We fight on unseen fronts, in a holy war waged in silence and deep within our souls, With shadows that envelop gender, family, faith, the invisible war of waters and pure air, We fight against the broken sound of the world, with food that poisons and history that fades into mist, What can Georgescu do, you ask, when the masses do not know there is war and peace is just a forgotten dream? When the monarch lays siege relentlessly, and no one knows, no one wants to know of the wounds, Orthodoxy is the shield and the sword, the light that pierces the dense and cold darkness of the world, It is the only way of escape from the siege that seeks to swallow us, to lose us without hope, But how do we raise this shield, how do we withstand when all populations fall? The holy war is not about extremism or nationalism, nor about feigned patriotism, It is about the silent and sacred fight on all planes of daily life, day and night, From hygiene to defense, from food to soul, Orthodoxy is the order of the heavenly realms, It is the shield that protects us from the satanic siege, either Orthodoxy, or death, there is no other way. So reread, my friend, reread, for there is no other way than this ancient path, Orthodoxy at bayonet, the silent fight in a world that seems to forget, to lose what is sacred, And yet, under the ink-colored sky, hope rises, a light in the heart of those who believe, For a better, more just world, in a world that knows the siege cannot defeat faith.
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