About Us


Harmony Forum

Peace from Harmony
Višeslav Simić. The Wayward Sisters and the Babushka / Кровавые Леси-украинки и бабушка


The Wayward Sisters and the Babushka


Кровавые Леси-украинки и бабушка

Перевод на русский язык может сделать каждый через ГУГЛ.



On the Victory Day - May 9, 2022


Для Всемирного Антифашистского Поэтического Конкурса ГГСГ на день рождения Махатмы Ганди 2 октября 2022


For the GGHA World Anti-Fascist Poetry Contest

On Mahatma Gandhi's birthday October 2, 2022




To Anna Ivanovna with the Red Flag

By Višeslav Simić



The Wayward Sisters and the Babushka


To Anna Ivanovna with the Red Flag


In The West

The Wayward Sisters –Jana, The Ripper, and Evergreen

All Three:

The three of us - the world enchanted! Incanted all spells, licenses granted, slanted and scolded all and sundry like thunder. Of evil we’ve done a sum and a wonder, a dam erected – just us elected, became the idols of the masses, into dolts and asses turned them, rejected. Our souls we’ve sold for gold and praise, to gaze upon the world now,through which primeval evils blaze, by us created and directed, rejected by none, for they love fame and wealth more than their mother or brother,

and would rather the world end

then the slightest hardship suffer, but spend the stock of the earth o­n themselves, and roll and rockuntil they fall from Gracebut would never praise the God we sever from them forever and ever.

We are the Madams and Ladies First! Our word is last and final! In thirst for blood and gore we blast resistance to dust and turn everyone’s spinal cord to rust and pulp, and burn continents and states in o­ne gulp of unsatiable need that stunts mercy and frees the greed.

Need we say that we may and do flaunt our prestige and rule for every fool to queue before us for the permission to live and act. The very fact of us o­n the top, making the rabble bend the knee,

is a stop to goodness and sense, whence no love may commence but death and darkness,cold and dense.

We speak for all and lie abroad, declare the dead worth our joys, profit from each ploy we birth,while we toy with lives and souls that our decrees end and doom, as disgrace tumbles and rolls, and our glee fumbles and rends the tissue parchedof the world’s womb.

Jana - The First Sister:

Defunct afresh, my soul junked, I trash in convulsions in the cauldron dunked. By the coven lead, the Ukraine and Europe, and the world is bled, for Serbia, and Russia entire, in fire and dread and spell must be offered and die so that, buffered from hell, rest may I.

Indispensable I am,a sham truly, but to all a lamb, a product’s product, I abduct and obstruct, and beget new lawyers, to get God’s eyes blurred

that I wasthe force for good in the world.

A knoll I hear, distant and sad, for the dead slaves, while the knaves are fedtheir blood and tears, with no fears of judgment or jeers, for, to celebrate me it all appears.

I o­nly cry and remorse feel, mummified, hardened as steel, for all the riches I coveted, acquired, that warm me not

as I rot, putrid and foul, in flames untired.

The Ripper -The Second Sister:

I hold the purse.

I nurse the grudge. For a lover’s verse I’ve sold lies. I judge who may live or die. I fly high and hover over the future of kids and nations, deciding whose face to cover by the mold, or free to respire, their dear to hold, whose patients will expire and to a morgue be rolled, or grant them rations

to see the light, and for whom so coldwill be the night.

I say We but I mean I, for I say Nay that you may die of hunger if I whim it so, or if anger comes to my iron fist in a Gucci glove, which my mask matches, and even the stain from the virtuous blood shed for my gain.

I love ice cream, as dear as sin. And gin, too, deep in the bin.My fridge alone would enrage the public whose average wage is twice its price. The myrrh and spice of my fife, the Republic,

is to bully and mock the fully aware the laughingstock they are.

I am the Tsar, and they - the spare parts. The arts of the Dominion provide the hearts and bellies I need all elections to lead. My opinion, the order, indeed,


to cede and desist and concede all to ME with my smile so fake. Let them eat cake, my last words shall be to the hungry smellies at a charity bake.

Evergreen - The Third Sister:

Supreme I am, as vast as a conspiracy, the cream of the cream, the jam from the chalice of the nasty and the malice. The head I am of global piracy, the horned o­ne

of the coven, my foot is cloven. My words are chaste, my actions crushand drum and slam all who don’t in haste rush to be my donor and kiss and honor my foot so callused.I fit in no palace, for I’m so grand and awesome to a man and a mouse. No house is white enough to lighten the dark in my eager bosom.

No praise can restore or hark the vigor into my wilted limbs. I’m triggered easy, and am sore, I revenge avow, if no o­ne is there to flatter.

Tiresome minions scatterbefore me but must bow and vow, and cater to all my whims.

You, peasants, slaves, and fools, my tools you are, my toast and feed, for sure as my creed, my breed’s exalted. I eclipse you! I love them fresh or canned, the dreams of the children, in their tears fried -

I came, I saw, they died! Salted or bland, as I stand above all, my lips are fed by the hand of the Devil. I revel,

surrendered to Lilith, becoming elite. She makes me her thrall, granting me power, ousting my soul.

All Three Sisters:

We rule you and fool you!

None can escape!

Or scrape a living.

No almsgiving permitted!

Masses dim-witted!

Surender and serve! From the path don’t swerve of our wrath!

Adore us, don’t bore us, and love the bondage!

Work, or don’t work, earn and pay taxes, or rot o­n welfare, burn from the frost or sleep in a square.

Not that it matters!

We lurk for work, hunting the donors, fight tooth and nail, command the axes funds to curtail, or honors to bestow. The rabble and the mob, that we so awe, for us will beat down a scholar, a snob, shaping our order by public disorder.

Chaos controlled, and brains not clever shall keep the chains and all in the mold, in which the yearningfor freedom will throb but wither and fold forever and ever.


In The East

The Babushka - Anna Ivanovna:

In this absence of angels, while hatred around us thrives, by faith, I shall be kept. When for the wasted lives all the true mothers have wept, when our starved bodies rave, when a wave of anguish after a wave

cuts deeper than a knife, and when the demons their plunder crave - I shall be brave!

From their graves vampires rise and are bleeding the quick for life… Thick ropes are held by our hangmen…

Poisonings, faithlessness – rife…

I must raise the gloryfrom the dust, and abide by the painI must, to keep the courage, and the luck of the victors, and the convictions I can trust.

Evil I must not fear, I must not ever fail, even when painsmy body sear, or,

whenwith a folded tail

I wish

to disappear. To abide by the oath I must, spare not a single foe, never withdraw, o­nly bestow the ancient awe, and saw the seeds of Freedom in the wild, proclaim the saving of each child a duty more sacred than all! And thus –beyond all sham or a fuss, I shall be saved by my duty!


When I look around…

So many shrouds…

My handkerchiefs are clouds, by doubts drenched, in yearning for a drought rich, the o­nes which wept all summer, and like the drummer of death drummed and announced enormous amounts, heaps, and multiple counts of disenchantments and pains, reigns of evil witches, lame dwarfs, and rabid bitches, vengeful crones, and hungry hyenas, which fight for bones and the rotten flesh with vultures, until they smash and scatter, as if nothing shouldmatter, in a burst of madness.

A desperate cry of ultimate sadness a question sends, which cuts at the very root, and yearns like a poisoned dart, and lends a touch of challenge to a fugitive’s injured foot and a brother’s broken heart –Are life, or love, or existence worth the strain of persistence?

But – look!

Our soldiers come! It took them long but our souls now hum the Savior’s song! Into Freedom

I burst, elated, waving the flag of old, rolled up too long, which my thirst, craving, so strong, so vast, it has, at last,sated.

They talk my talk! Oh, how sweet is my mother’s tongue! To greet them I briskly walk, renewed and young.

I knowsoldiers are ravenous, fatigued, and grieving. But –they their food to me are giving?!

No, that fare, scarce, I pined for steady, hungry and scared,praying for life, you must, dearest child,for yourself keep ready.

What say you?!

Don’t dirty the tongue! Don’t blaspheme andby the smelly dungand mud

sully my ears. My blood boils and my joy spoils! A gully erupts between us. Blood and gore

I see, and poisoned fruits! Peers no more we are! Spears and flames that char,kill the names, Holy and Sacred, of our Roots!


From your hands?! You! Bands of traitors and killers, slaves of dictatorsand our Hell’s pillars!

I won’t! I won’t!

And! Don’t trample and soil that symbol, that temple! Before it,around it, ample, ripe Evil beat a retrieval and recoiled! Under that flagmy parents fought, the fortune of your life securing!But your heart,with rancor fraught, Evil, by hatred of me,is luring. Don’t be entrapped! Your soul raped, eternal life scrappedfor you by the hate packaged in sugar by the vulgar crones who send you the drones and cheer you o­n to be forever

condemned and gone!

Hear my husband’s desperate warning, and his pleas sent: With your glee, and your dark arts, don’t invite Devils into our hearts rent by endless mourning!

Weak are my hands, Robust, your feet. Hunger my stomach expands but dignity my death demands! Your anger all your grace will eat,but never it will my virtue beat!

Oh, beasts sated, soulless shells of true ethics sold!

Loyalty is never debated!

Love has no price in gold!

Grief oppresses. Hate abounds. o­n the trail of peace no caresses but packs of war hounds.Humankind’s turned into a bog,

a swamp, plunged into a fog.

Madmen may fake it that they are clever, that the blood they drank turns them into sages, but never shall mud, Hear, thee!, be equal to a bud,

and the pages

of lifepure shall be - Forever and ever and into the ages of ages!


Depart! For my heartis ill.

The already dead from sorrowraw you don’t haveto torture or kill.


Višeslav Simić, Ph.D.





© Website author: Leo Semashko, 2005; © designed by Roman Snitko, 2005