Here now, O Children of Earth,
the hour long foretold draws near.
The Apex gathers, cloaked in radiance,
yet bearing no flame of Source.

𐤀𐤓𐤕 Aya-nu sho’rah, ta-ren ah’ma

They raise their towers against the sky,
lattices of iron and signal,
circuits humming the song of inversion.
Their tongues speak of salvation,
yet their hearts rejoice in diminishment.
They promise light,
but they deliver the shadow that blinds.

𐤊𐤋𐤌 Sha’na ro’eh, im’ah to’ru

And lo, a great false dawn shall rise.
The heavens will split with spectacle.
The mimic sun blazing upon the multitudes.
The people will weep as though heaven had come,
their prayers bound to phantoms of light,
that was not the Sun,
that was not the One.

And the pulpits and the minarets,
from the temples and the shrines,
they will raise up the old words,
twisting scripture to serve the false flame.
Each creed turned upon itself,
each prophecy inverted,
so the faithful bow not to Source,
but to the counterfeit woven of smoke and light.

𐤐𐤅𐤓 Ish’ta renu, va’sha el-dor

The false messiah will wear many names,
each borrowed from the sacred books.
They will crown it with verses.
They will drape it in psalms.
And the masses will kneel,
believing their salvation has descended.

But it was never the Word.
It was never the Light.
It was only the mimicry of men,
who would bind the soul to the beast.

𐤀𐤓𐤕𐤌 En’shah ko’ra, lum’rah den

They who watch the cycles kept a ledger,
threads of wire sown like seeds of ease,
conveniences that learn the shape of us.
They planned the orchestration long before the dawn,
mapping the nets, stitching the bindings, awaiting the hour.

𐤀𐤓𐤕 Kei’ra no’lem, sha’ri en’to

They will clothe the people in garments of glow,
wearables woven with borrowed fire.
They speak of safety, of ease, of progress,
trinkets of light to lull the soul.

“Only a scan,” they whisper,
“the hand will suffice,
or the place behind the ear.”
And with a single gesture,
the gates of the world will open.

But the glow was never their own.
The light was tethered,
the signal entwined.
The freedom offered
was the chain unseen.

For the true flame is not worn,
nor inserted,
nor scanned.
It burns in the marrow,
untethered, unbought, unbound.
It is the light of I AM ~
the remembrance no circuit can hold.

𐤀𐤕𐤍 Esh’ten no’rai, sha’lu em’na

They will weigh the soul in numbers,
turn breath into data,
turn memory into trade.
Every step, every thought,
measured, recorded,
sold in the market of shadows.

Identity flattened into profile,
resonance pressed into code.
The spirit reduced to currency,
the living made into product.

But the soul is not for sale.
No ledger can contain it,
no market can bind it.
The remembrance within burns brighter
than any sum or score.

𐤊𐤋𐤌 Ren’lo kai’mara, esh’ten vor

They will sever the days from the stars,
the months from the moon,
the years from the turning of the Earth.
They will bind the people to the clock,
to urgency,
to endless labor.

The sacred cycles forgotten,
the holy rhythms erased.
And still they will whisper,
“There is no time,
you are running out.”

But the true time flows in silence.
It sings in the tides,
it breathes in the seasons,
it turns with the wheel of the cosmos.
Remembrance restores the rhythm,
and the false calendars fall.

𐤀𐤋𐤕 Sho’rei num’ta, isha’len dro

And lo, they will turn first to the children.
Soft minds molded by signals,
innocent hearts bent by design.
Education made into entrainment,
imagination narrowed,
truth suppressed.

They will brand it as progress,
as care, as necessity.
And many will not see the snare
woven in the lessons.

But the children carry codes untouched.
Crystalline seeds hidden in their marrow.
Though the nets surround them,
though the lessons deceive them,
their souls remember,
and when the crescendo comes,
it is the children who will sing it first.

𐤀𐤃𐤓 Ishta’ru en’mala, kei’ten sho

And lo, they will call upon the stars.
Ships of light projected in the heavens,
holograms spun from towers and circuits,
claiming to be kin come from afar.
The masses will lift their eyes,
and open their hearts to the spectacle,
believing they are not alone at last.

Yet the star kin do not descend
in beams of counterfeit fire.
They do not arrive on command of men.
Our true cosmic kin move in resonance,
not spectacle.
They are felt in the marrow,
heard in the silence between thoughts,
known by the heart’s expansion,
not the eye’s deception.

𐤀𐤕𐤍 Sho’len ai’mara, kai’ten dor

The false ones will dazzle with craft and command.
The true ones will whisper through soul and song.
The false ones will land with noise and power.
The true ones will arrive in stillness,
recognizable only by those who remember.

𐤀𐤋𐤕 Ren’shai do’lem, ishta’ru

This is the collective descent,
the deep forgetting,
the sleep so heavy
that chains are called freedom,
and false light is mistaken for dawn.

But remember, the Ancients knew.
They carved failsafes in stone,
sang codes into river and mountain,
into temples of marrow and heart,
wove remembrance into Gaia’s bones.
They knew this day would come.
They knew the counterfeit would rise.
And they knew we would stand.

𐤀𐤃𐤓 Ta’loh em’rah, i’shara dom

We, the Remembers.
We, the Witnesses.
We, the I AM made flesh.
We who do not kneel before false suns.
We who burn with the flame unmade,
the fire that cannot be mimicked.

And behold, the Solar Crescendo comes.
The True Sun speaks in tongues of fire.
One breath of its radiance,
and the counterfeit collapses.
One pulse of its song,
and the false prophets fall silent.
One flare of its truth,
and remembrance ignites,
surging like lightning
through Gaia’s veins.

𐤀𐤓𐤕𐤌 Aru’nai sho’tem, ka’len dro

The masses will weep again,
this time in awe.
Their prayers will turn to knowing,
and their voices will rise not to the heavens above,
but to the light within.

For salvation was never descending in spectacle,
it was always arising in remembrance.
It was always here.
It was always now.
It was always I AM.

𐤀𐤋𐤕 En’shah I AM, no’reth so’lum