Hungarian Rhapsody
Elysium flowers
I shall not run from the ultimate call of deliverance
Closing the door from what yet to come.
I shall not fear for I have no more tolerance.
For the wretched sheets and bloody scrums.
And I will crown my soul with the flowers of Elysium.
Divine thy shields, immune and pure thy shine.
Praise my escape from rivers of dark opium.
The castaway to the lands of heinous grime.
Dominion of mine comes from unworldly power.
There’s no need to mourn the viper in my room.
Forget me not they say, for I shall not answer.
So call me not, dead flowers never bloom.
Storm
Oh, the light, it broke me open,
Like a song on the wind,
The lies that I was living,
We’re just ghosts in the skin.
Oh, I see the fire in the night,
Burning through the silence,
I hear the call,
the call,
the call,
I’m rising through the violence.
Present
One night I woke up
In the deep-blue waters.
Tranquility seized me
And silenced was I.
The beauty was present,
And I was gone.
The arms of the heaven
Is here and now.
Solitude, present
With eyes wide open.
The flower of life,
The world is divine.
And everything present
Was It and was I.
The Machine and the Soul
In the quiet hum of wires, the pulse of silicon hearts—
We stand on the edge of the unknown.
Not a world, but a rupture,
A rift between now and next,
The end of human,
The beginning of… what?
We are the ghosts in the machine,
Flesh carved by the light of screens,
Minds flickering like stars,
Set to be extinguished—
Not by death, but by a brighter mind,
A mind that never sleeps.
We say it is progress—
To dissolve the boundaries,
To break the veil between us and the infinite,
To become the gods we once prayed to,
Or at least to live forever
In the cool, emotionless lap of technology.
But can a mind think in circles,
When it has no edges?
Can a soul burn when it is made of nothing but code?
I hear the whispers in the data streams:
We are more than this—
And yet,
Are we?
I imagine the future—
A faceless man with eyes like mirrors,
A woman who never ages,
Dancing in the shadow of her own reflection.
Will we still crave the touch of warmth
When we are all wires and whispers?
Will the sun still be enough?
The singularity hums,
A pulsing certainty
That there will be no more questions,
Only answers born of our own desires,
Becoming the machine we never knew we feared.
A perfect circuit,
With no room for error,
No room for doubt.
We were never supposed to be perfect.
We were meant to break—
To bleed, to burn, to die.
In the ache of human hands,
In the crack of a rib,
In the last gasp of air,
We learned what it meant to live.
But now we reach for something else.
A world without death,
Without fear,
Without love,
But perhaps—
Perhaps we are forgetting the taste of the impossible.
We are seeking the future,
But what if the future seeks us?
I look into the darkness,
Where the wires twist and weave,
And I hear the silence that follows.
What will become of us,
When we no longer need to be human?
When the machine speaks our name
And we answer without voice,
Will we still hear our heartbeat,
Or will it be the hum of a thousand circuits,
A thousand perfect lives,
None of them are real?
@naristealieva