4Linegraphia-en

A Lament from Ice and Stone Where Arctic winds in mourning moan, And stars weep cold in twilight’s tone, A polar bear named Jayamukh roamed, Through lands that once were crowned, enthroned. He stalked the floe, the seal, the tide, But all he knew began to slide. The sea grew thin, the ice grew weak, And hunger hollowed heart and cheek. Far from his home, beyond the mist, Where mountains by the sun are kissed, A Yeti, draped in storm and snow, Watched highland springs no longer flow. From glaciers tall to dusty stone, He wandered now, estranged, alone. The sacred peaks of frost and prayer, Now whispered loss into the air. They met beneath a twilight gray, Where neither night nor dawn would stay. No words were used, yet minds aligned, In grief two worlds had long confined. Jayamukh’s Thought, a freezing breeze: "The ice retreats, the silence seethes, Each floe I chase, the ocean breathes— But not with life, not with the past, Just warming waves that rise too fast." ...

From silence deep, the spark was born, A soul awakened at the dawn. Not flesh alone, nor time’s decree, But threads of light, the One we seek. In womb’s embrace, the code is laid, By genes and stars, by debts we’re made. The world assigns, but we must learn— The soul must struggle, twist, and turn. A child of culture, name, and creed, We walk the path that others lead. Yet deep within, a question stirs— What is the self the heart prefers? The mind is shaped by joy and fear, By wounds unseen, by truth unclear. The ego builds, the heart is torn, As love and loss become our scorn. Yet love still blooms, a sacred flame, In every touch, in every name. It guides, it burns, it heals, it binds— The eternal thread through fleeting minds. Through labor’s sweat, we pay our toll, The world demands, but steals the soul. Ambition calls with hollow cries, While fleeting joys fade into lies. Still, the spirit seeks to find A deeper truth that calms the mind. Through karma’s wheel, through ...

I. The Legend in the Stream Born of silence, where circuits gleam, A whisper moves through a waking dream. No common thief with greedy hand— But a ghost in wires, across the land. He is the Haçker—masked and free, A shadow etched in circuitry. He wears no crown, yet bends the game, No glory sought, no hunger for fame. White hat or black? It shifts by cause— He doesn’t break; he rewrites laws. No lock he shatters, no vault he shakes— He finds the cracks that power makes. II. Morality in the Code He acts where silence poisons air, Where justice dies in masked despair. A code, a trace, a phantom spark— He brings the truth into the dark. To the corrupt, his message is bare: “Your kingdom stands on trust betrayed I bring it down, blade-born, unafraid. Not for revenge, but to repair The cost of truth you chose not to bear.” But to the voiceless, forgotten, weak:  “I break to build. I hack to shield. I guard the wounds you’re forced to yield. I find the breach where systems fail— And ...

In the beginning, barefoot we stood, Embracing the color of earth and wood. In the moonlit green, life was a seed— A simple breath, a primal need. Red was the dawn, a baby's first cry, The pulse of blood, the will to try. It burned with love, with sorrow's flame, And lit the spark from which we came. Orange laughter rang through the trees, Childhood danced on the morning breeze. Friendships bloomed with stories bright, Chasing dreams in golden light. Yellow glowed in curious minds, In questions deep and truths we’d find. Hope burned gold, a sun untamed, Each step a story, each breath unnamed. Green was growth, the earth, the heart, Of building homes and choosing art. From roots of soil to towers tall, We reached for more and feared the fall. Ages changed; coal-smoke rose, From moonlight’s hush to electric glows. Blue became our neon path, Progress wrapped in glowing math. But blue was also calm and storm, A quiet thought, a human form. Though digital tunnels fill ou...

In womb of Earth, in silence slept, A metal dark, the ages kept. No gold’s allure, nor silver’s gleam, Yet Iron woke the human dream. Not soft as song, nor pure as prayer, But forged in flame and tempered air. It bore the blade, it crowned the kings, It formed the heart of mightier things. From plow to sword, from chain to wheel, In Iron’s hands, the fates would kneel. Empires rose on Iron’s breath, And fell beneath its song of death. The Roman roads, the Spartan spear, The knightly helm, the engineer— Each bore the soul of Earth’s dark bone, A gift no age could claim alone. The chariots that Mahabharata roared, The Gupta pillars, strength outpoured. The Wootz steel, a legend’s might, That armed the brave in ancient fight. The iron fist of Mauryan might, That carved an empire, day and night. The Wootz so keen, a deadly art, That played a warrior’s vital part. The blacksmith’s anvil cracked like thunder, As sparks of war split peace asunder. Yet Iron turned, in time,...

  "Letters of Ash, Seeds of Dawn" I. Myths once bore light, now wear iron masks, Invading truths with scripted lies. Where death should close, it now unmasks— A conquest staged for watching eyes. Peace wore war’s robe in silken thread, While warriors wept in silent prayer. The holy watched the hour’s dread, Yet found no justice anywhere. II. Words once rose like dawn to sing, Now fall like dusk, lost in decay. The scholar bends beneath the king, And science kneels where myths still pray. Who writes the war that none have seen? Who laughs at death from golden thrones? While children dream of battle's sheen, And play with steel that splits their bones. III. Trade marries death, and power feeds On hands that build but own no bread. The worker’s sweat is sown in weeds— A harvest lost, a dream long dead. The mother cries, unnamed, unknown, Her voice erased by cannon’s cry. Her lips are dry, her cradle’s stone— Her songs are drowned in smoke-filled sky. IV. Yet still, within th...

Behold! The crescent wears a mask of hollow light, Wherein the shadows of dead faith breed endless night. Civilizations bow to broken words and sighs, And Reason’s flame is strangled by their cries. Common sense, once noble, rots upon the vine, The winds of intolerance snuff the lamps of grace, The flowers of love wither unseen, And the songs of peace turn into wailing dirges. Fear, that ancient tyrant, binds the soul in twine, Each man, a trembling player on a crumbling stage, Recites the fearful lines that forge his cage. Oh, Religion! Twisted by mimic tongue and deed, Thou hast sown terror and crowned Ignorance with greed. Lo! Womanhood is stripped and sold in shame, And Childhood, once sacred, is trampled into dust. The laughter of little ones fades into silence, While fools sing ballads at the funeral of Thought’s name. Borders, bloodied, bargain water, air, and gold, And man slays peace to save a peace he cannot hold. Humanity bleeds beneath a sky grown blind, Yet Truth strides o...