Ishka

A message from the Underverse

📷 by Andrii Babarytskyi

I have worn your skins.

Walked in your steps.

Lived behind your eyes

longer than your ancestors have had names.

I have seen empires rise

from the brittle bones of children,

heard the prayers of kings

slathered in blood

as they thanked the divine

for the conquest of strangers.

You think you invented violence.

You think hatred is yours.

But I was there

when Cain broke Abel’s skull,

not wailing,

just watching.

Because you don’t need help.

You let them do it all on their own.

You stamp flags into soil

like a claim makes it yours.

You slit throats for gods

you don’t even understand.

You cage women in scripture

then call it freedom of religion.

You write peace on paper

then light it on fire

for oil, for pride, for spectacle.

I’ve walked battlefields

before you called them that.

Saw men gut each other

with harsh words

and rusted swords.

Different centuries.

Same screams.

Your blind beliefs;

fractals of fury.

Each one convinced

it carries the only light

while snuffing out the rest.

You kill to prove a point

your own prophets never made.

I’ve seen you wage war

over land your bones won’t outlast,

over names

etched into paper,

over pigment

in your skin.

And still,

you preach love

with serrated tongues.

You march for peace

wearing combat boots.

You weep at graves

you helped fill.

I do not need to tempt you.

You create your own damnation.

I only tally the cost.

The forests choke.

The oceans rise like raging fists.

The animals leave

or die quietly beneath your feet.

And still you argue

about who gets to own

the end of the world.

You think demons bring ruin.

But you are the architects.

We are only the archivists.

You are the fire.

We are the mirrors.

I wear this human shape

not to deceive you,

but to walk unnoticed

among your chaos,

to witness

the slow suicide

you call civilization.

Do not call us evil

while you drill into earth’s marrow,

while you poison your children with ideology,

while you cage the dreamers

and feed the fearful.

Do not look for horns

when it is your hands

that strangle,

your voices

that command genocide

in the name of order,

your silence

that grants permission.

You fear the abyss.

I tell you this,

you have already built it.

And you live there

comfortably.

So go on.

Sing your anthems.

Pray to your illusions.

Blame the devil

while sharpening the blade.

We’ll be here

waiting,

recording,

watching you

dig your own name

into the tombstone

of the species

you once could have become.

©️ Vennie Kocsis