End of France
Change is the only constant,
and the wind of Ketu sweeps through France.
On the Eiffel Tower of time I stood,
watching Saturn’s scythe descend,
and Rahu’s shadow thicken over Paris.
The markets will collapse,
streets will burn with protest,
and her influence will fade
like an empire turned to ash.
Since 1792 she stood proud—
now she bends,
the first of Europe to fall
into the poverty of nations.
Nations, like men, are born,
they rise, and they perish.
France must descend,
and Europe will follow.
The wind of Ketu whispers:
“Look within, not without.”
But Europe, rich on stolen wealth,
has no strength of its own.
Wars shall rise between brothers,
borders will bleed again.
France is the spark,
Europe the forest,
and destiny the flame.
And the whisper of fate says:
“When France falls,
the world must choose—
to burn… or to be reborn.”
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