The Fragile Geometry Of Now Poem by Xijuan Bellotti

. Putin's Frost

His shadow stretches—

A frost creeping over borders, 
silent, calculated, unyielding.
Words like chess moves, 
pawns sacrificed without remorse.

Peace, to him, is a frozen lake, 
its surface smooth, its depths treacherous.

He builds walls of ice, 
while the world watches, 

waiting for the thaw.


But frost cannot last forever—

even winter yields to spring.
What lies beneath the ice?

A reckoning, or just more silence?


. Zelensky's Lighthouse

He stands in rubble, 
a lighthouse in the storm, 

his voice cracking under the weight of hope.


Hands that once held laughter
now build barricades from broken promises.

Peace, to him, is a fragile flame, 

flickering in the wind of war.


He speaks of justice, 

of memory etched into stone, 

of a nation that refuses to kneel.

But even lighthouses crumble

under the weight of endless waves.


Can light outlast the storm?

Or will it again be swallowed by the dark?



. Trump's Golden Table


His shadow looms, 
a dealmaker's grin etched in gold, 

words sharp, cutting through silence.


Peace, to him, is a transaction, 

a handshake, a signature on paper.

But the table he sits at is scarred,

its legs shaky, its surface cracked.


He trades in promises, 

but the currency of war is blood, 

and no deal can wash it away.

Can gold exchange peace?

Or is it just another mask

for the same old game?