The Mossad
Winter in Tel Aviv.
Cold skies.
Quiet streets.
Men and women moved like ghosts.
Machines of flesh.
Engines of fear.
Born—December 13, 1949.
Thirteen—age of awakening.
Israel came of age that day.
A nation of secrets.
A kingdom of mirrors.
They learned a truth:
The enemy within is greater.
So they entered hearts,
mosques, palaces.
No armies.
Only whispers.
They used hunger as a weapon.
Faith as a tool.
Money as a leash.
The rich fed the fire.
The West guarded the gate.
Israel became the watchtower—
guardian of empire,
eye of the storm.
But gold fades.
Power thins.
Even fear grows tired.
I watched the city breathe secrets.
And saw the end begin.
What starts in lies
dies in truth.
Loyalty is hunger.
When the hand is empty,
obedience ends.
Mossad will crumble—
quietly,
slowly,
like sand leaving a fist.
What was built in darkness
will drown in light.
And the world will whisper:
Power was never power—
only illusion.
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