There once was a tale dark and gritty,
Of calling a mogul a ditty;
But Witkoff, you’ll find,
Has a far deeper bind—
Three decades in Russia’s committee.
He wasn’t just waving a flag,
Nor a casual Moscow-tag wag;
His roots and his ties
Make the “peace plan” no surprise—
Continuity dressed up as swag.
When Manhattan turned into a drain
For post-Soviet criminal gain,
Two climbers stood tall—
Witkoff, Trump in the hall—
Both rising on money not plain.
In Trump Tower the buyers were bold:
Mobsters, launderers, deals bought in gold;
With no questions asked
And suitcases tasked—
A welcome that never grew cold.
While Trump sold the condos for cash,
Witkoff flipped office-space stash;
One pipeline they rode
Where Kremlin funds flowed—
Two fortunes in one mingled splash.
And now he’s the Russia-rend guide,
No expertise riding beside;
Just networks that lean
Toward the Kremlin machine—
And a “wishlist” the U.S. applied.
Remember when Manafort met
Kilimnik to quietly set
A plan Moscow blessed—
Kyiv crushed, sanctions stressed—
The playbook? Still running. You bet.
Trump claims that the war’s on his name,
Though the timeline exposes the game;
He’d heard, more than twice,
The “peace plan” advice—
Yet insists history’s wrong all the same.
Now another new plan hits the stage,
But its points are the old Kremlin page;
Not novel, not bright—
Just the same Moscow bite
Rewrapped as diplomatic sage.
There were meetings with Putin alone,
No transcript, no staff in the zone;
Notes vanished from sight
No outcomes were bright.
A mystery carved into stone.
Now again it’s the same paraphrase:
Closed doors, off-record pathways;
A Kremlin-U.S. deal
Where Ukraine gets no wheel—
And no sunlight allowed in the maze.
Ukraine must report every breath,
While Moscow is shielded from depth;
Two weeks for the czar,
But scrutiny far
Is deemed diplomatic death.
His lines echo Moscow’s refrain:
“Give territory, sanctions are pain.”
Back in ’18 he’d say
Sanctions got in the way—
A consistency hard to explain.
The crimes he omits from his stance—
The strikes, and the kids sent to camps;
The genocide threat
He conveniently forgets—
A silence that’s louder than chants.
Some say it’s just deals they pursue,
But those deals were old, not anew;
Appease and apply
Pressure on the wrong side—
Declare “peace,” and call it true.
He grew in an era defined
By laundering dressed up as “fine”;
The same very pool
That Manafort used—
A network that never resigned.
They claim he’s just commerce and stocks,
But he’s shaping the NATO toolbox;
Off-the-record he steers
U.S. posture and gears—
A policymaker in socks.
Manafort, Kilimnik—then him;
The pattern grows clearer, not dim:
Each “peace plan” alike,
Each meeting unsliced—
A rhythm too steady to skim.
He echoes the Kremlin outright,
Opposing EU security’s plight;
Negotiating alone,
Without Kyiv on the phone—
And demands fall on Ukraine by rite.
“Give land,” “You can’t win,” he repeats;
Kremlin goals dressed as thoughtful critiques;
Not opinions he lends,
But objectives he sends—
In the same old familiar beats.
From the ’90s through MAGA’s parade,
The same Russian channels were laid;
Now 2025
Sees that pipeline revived—
A “new” plan from old debts repaid.
Not spies, as the rumor may run,
But vessels whose shaping was done
In networks designed
By Moscow in kind—
Influence baked in the sun.
So the question is narrower still:
Why someone so shaped by that mill
Is guiding U.S. aims
In this Russia-Ukraine game—
And why we ignore it at will.
For he whispered to Moscow the key:
“How to shape what the president’ll see.”
And what came to pass?
“Give them land—it won’t last.”
Or “Why not just give them the whole country?”
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