In the heart of the country, a veil of mystery and melancholy floats
In the heart of the country, a veil of mystery and melancholy floats,
And threading along the leaf of life, these methods seem a sinister symphony.
Open borders, and immigration comes like an underground current,
On the paths of our land, an uncertain wave of eager forefront ends, choked by the wind.
Crime gallops unrestrained through cities once secure,
In towns, the silk of night is torn, and fear sleeps under the uncertain window of the future.
Addictions flourish like weeds, and fentanyl is a sorcerer enchanting minds,
The entire being is propped up with a shadow of insecurity, and elections are a bewildering theater full of subtle strife.
Children of schooling are puppets of a system disguised as a tale,
They are encouraged to believe blindly in a distorted dispute that furrows the brow of hope and dream.
Justice, this piece of us, scorned by malevolent politicians,
Is put in shackles, devoured in chains, gnawed until it answers only to their holy plea.
Private rights are dressed as the garment of inherited luxury,
But with every heartbeat, inflation grows, more out of the way and just as unrestrained.
The depopulation agenda stands like an unflinching shadow over the country,
And the silent hills guard a fertility that dwindles, becoming more awkward and rare.
In the offices of the world, bureaucracy coils like a rising of ideas,
Yet it cannot be held accountable, for like a windblown scatter, it skirts any laws.
Foods leave their trash on a childhood table, stuffing poor people with inhumane powders,
And they sob out all that we do not know about this world, and what we do not know to expect.
Misinformation about health is teeming on all paths,
And under the limb of dawn, the pandemic haunts the darkness, like an old myth known but forgotten.
The blood of the children is sterilized, in an explosion of incomprehension and insecurity.
And the charm of chemical products dies completely in the eyes of man, twisting, melting into unnatural rainbows.
The traditional family turns back on narrow paths,
Trying to mold values in the dust of a selfie world,
But ignite, a voice yells in silence,
And the strange heights of debauchery begin to terrify.
The entire country is transformed into a battlefield with no number,
And secret allergies consume everything that is an illuminated beacon.
Bodies find their stories turned inside out, and in disputes,
No one recognizes and elongates their aim, lost among the high stars with their imagined chariot.
State security agents in the guise of a police state stroll leisurely,
Exiling the rays of transparency, stretching over a canopy of sinister control,
Cities are rusted and insecure, and governmental power faces it head-on,
And in every corner, shadows curse with the voice of the night, for the country sinks into ever more passions.
Copyright ©
Dan Enache
|