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The blood will freeze in veins, and marrow in bones,
And flesh will freeze like rock upon the sacred stones;
And long will be the sleep under the stone,
Whilst empty yet stands the Blackest Throne;
Whilst the palace has not become a tomb,
Whilst not yet strong the wind of doom;
Whilst in the sky still shine sun and moon,
While the sea has not yet breached its doom;
Until the blood will fill the cup, not wine,
Whilst in the sky the tiny stars do shine,
And then the Lord of Dark will reach his hand,
And kill the sea and whither land.


Through the shores of slovenly Nile,
Through the flocks of moths and the birds,
Lies a tomb, which was raised by the swords,
A queen both enchanting and vile.

The gloom of night carries lies on fog,
Lurks the moon like a siren of sin,
The moist mists are all choking as smog,
And from a cave comes a big hyena.

And it groans from its brutal fury,
And its eyes are both malignant and depressing,
With its paws does it corpses unbury,
Whilst on tomb lies the shade of moons crescent.

"Now watch, o moon, the patroness of lovers,
And look, o stars, you faint visions,
And watch, o Nile, through your silent powers,
Upon this tomb, erected from the treasons.

And watch my fur, how it raises upwards,
How my eyes do burn with evil flame.
Im as bad as she, yet how it happened,
That it is she who got all the fame?

In her chest beat a heart chockfull of treason,
Her curving eyebrows brought only demise forth,
Yes, she was a hyena - which could reason.
And she too found just blood worthy."

In villages the dogs do bark in fear,
The little children weep, freaked-out beyond reason,
While grown-ups pick-up the army gear,
And frowned down, thinking thoughts of treason.


From loneliness, that drives one mad,
An echos whisper can become true words.
Hiding behind fans, as sharp as swords,
the moon does laugh, though shes waning, sad.
And every thing around looks in vain,
all has been read and scanned, all has been plain.
Thus there is no escape for me from pain.

Thus there is no escape for me from pain
No salvation in the meaning of the letters:
Their meanings - multitude and one of fetters,
These fetters fog the mind with true fear,
And Bachs organs will sing both true and clear,
And Boschs creatures will gain true flesh.
One cant escape the rigidness of mesh.

One cant escape the rigidness of mesh
Neither with in salvation nor treason,
Thus Troy, that has accepted Helena,
Has fallen by abandoning its reason,
Thus deities are bound by the faith,
I, just like them, do seek some other place.
Thus Im on the edge, with abyss right before me.

Thus Im on the edge, with abyss right before me
it shines with the great displays of space,
Its full with rustling of the bamboo leaves,
The running water deep inside it grieves,
Perhaps from ever-present numbness...
Im standing on the merging of the coast;
its colours blue, its murmur - voice of ghosts.

Its colours blue, its murmur - voice of ghosts,
And it is full of foreboding and alarm,
The birds are flying far away from harm -
They fly to south - that is their charm.
The trees have lost their foliage of gold,
as sleep has touched them and they did what they were told.
The wave has come and burst on the rocks of old.

The wave has come and burst on the rocks of old,
Just like the light does, falling on some glass,
Or maybe on the hair of some lass;
And ice becomes as hard as steel and cold,
When it catches the soul like a bee,
In its primeval darkness from which none can flee,
Without breaking-up into the shards.

Without breaking-up into shards,
The tree trunks can not no longer stand alone,
Trying to have its pain, loss, atoned

As soon inside her giant, dusky eyes,
the maiden of the dark dresses in clothing lies.
A tear glistens, to no ones surprise,
from loneliness that drives one mad.

From loneliness that drives one mad,
Thus there is no escape for me from pain
One cant escape the rigidness of mesh,
Thus Im on the edge, with abyss right before me:
Its colours blue, its murmur - voice of ghosts.
The wave has come and burst on the rocks of old,
without breaking-up into the shards.


At the sea, oh at the sea,
Is a big blue stone,
Naked beauty sits on it
Her legs in awash in wave-foam,
To the shipwrights does she call,
"Shipwrights, oh shipwrights!
For what dost you sail the seas,
Sailing them in vain?
Pearl and amber do you seek-
Well, there's just one pearl-
That's my beauty so fair,
My lips so passionate,
My breasts are so cool to touch,
My legs are light as feathers,
Yet so heavy are my hands!
Thus there's just one prize
Here - to sleep in my fair arms,
Hearing me singing!"
But the shipwrights sail on,
Not heading the maiden,
Yet so heavy are their hearts,
Their eyes are blind with tears.
They can't forget her asleep or awake,
In travel or in harbour-
They'll hear her for evermore.


Abandoned by bright one, the great Thunderer's silent daughter,
Trying to catch up to him, brings forth her belovded twins.
Just like the both of their folk, the twins grew up fully immortal,
But uncomparable wholly the divine twins.
Swarthy like mother, a demiurge just like his father,
Sleep dreams of day even in darkness of night.
But the daughter renowned of Day, yet in nature
Fully of immortal night, mistress Death -
She, star-crowned, will not recognize
Neither her father nor her inconsolable dam.


The angel of death piteously will cry
Upon the time of Armageddon,
He'll spread his wings and then he'll die
Lying prostrate before G-d's throne.

The angel of vengeance will not budge,
Nor shall he be perturbed in ever.
'I am yours to command, oh eternal Judge,
All things must die, but revenge lives forever.'


You're all alone, child of prophet,
It is dark, the time of Khaya-Bash
Feel the wind; it's whistling a prayer,
Feel your skin part under its icy lash.

You're too high already; from the people
You're too far; and in the pine copse
Comes fast chill; from slopes that's too steeple -
It will bear yet your own corpse.

There's only two, who'll meet the challenge -
You, your steed. The copse - it helps you not.
Winter wind - in needles it does scrounge -
Easily will pin you to your spot.

Where you will hide? Your body's weary,
So is your heart... So's your steed...
Look through pines... See it, white and hoary,
Granite mount, Khaya-Bash - for this is it.

And the sky - it's looming closer, closer,
It is full of snow and of gloom.
And you know, as it's coming closer,
That it's foreshadowing your doom.


A pagan altar, sheathed in wreathes of flowers -
Row of submissive virgins, clad in white.
The fragrant smoke foresees benign showers
All prophesized before the crystal statue,
Of goddess, who has slyly looked aside.

The woods, the morn, the dusk. The emerald of greenery,
The chrysolites that glow crystal-bright.
Upon a gold-wrought table, sits in preenery,
All calm and peaceful as the mighty Buddha,
Naught on earth or Paradise can flee her sight.

The gaze of hers, mysterious and quivering,
Is looking more, more passionless and dead
From deep beneath her slanted, upturned brows,
And a sly, secret smile is quivering,
Upon her shining face, as still as lead.


The mandrake plant above the graves does bloom,
Above the coffins buried next to gallows black.
The mandrake feeds upon the juice of death and gloom -
And it is king in the wild weeds' pack.

O brother Cain, who from poison mandrake grew!
Great God, perhaps, can forgive a kin-slayer.
Yet hangman's not a killer, but spawned by Hell, quite true,
And for flower full of poison he'll forsake you your prayer!


It's wild and dark, among the snow and ice
Death pitched her tent. Above, for half a year,
The polar night; the pale Polar star
Stands and burns in the abyssal sky.

Look closely at the misty spectre. This is death.
She sits before her tent and she is staring
Most blindly into the midnight sky -
'Till the end of the world, the Star will burn above her.


A dark, gloomy passageway,
Like a thief, I'm on my way,
Scold myself, am barely breathing,
So not to frighten off these,
Who are sleeping long ago,
These, but whom nevertheless,
In whose I room secretly I desire
To glance...
To see...

How the insomnia in this hour of night,
Changes, you, unsociable, your appearance and your might,
To whose ideas you're enslaved?
By whose ideas people are your prey?

There's a small cross on my breast,
Look at it, and see the rest,
That on you, it's capable
To change quite a lot
Many books I read indeed,
Many tricks have been my meat,
Don't even to attempt from me your secret hide!
This I saw!

How the insomnia in this hour of night,
Changes, you, unsociable, your appearance and your might,
To whose ideas you're enslaved?
By whose ideas people are your prey?

'Tis a pity, that back then you wouldn't believe me,
That in fact your newest friend is not like everyone!
All alone with him you were,
Knowing naught for ever more...
That he's dangerous for all, you gave not a damn
And you fell!

To a wizard, who's real,
Ruining folks like you, it's his deal!
As a doll, during the night,
He can govern you!

Everything takes place as in a terrible sleep.
And so back to safety I must creep!


The sunset on the river is fiery red,
And to me you hurry with sunset in your hand
Crazy and barefooted, to me you hurry, and,
And you generously make your footprints on the sand

The evening shadow does slide upon your tracks,
But as the day will end, water will wash them off,
One cannot just bend and grasp them in one's hand,
As touchy as birds are tracks on the sand.

The sunset burns far away, and, and,
Your footprints remain on the fortunate sand
And boys are correct, that feeling their end,
The immortal seek-out footprints on the sand.

Years and water hurry to age,
But I, as always, for I am a sage,
Rush to the pinkish-red sunset at the river's end,
To watch the waves that lick the footprints on the sand.


Sea is windy, sea is stormy,
Sea is full of hurricanes,
Sea is full of drowned boats,
And of really big ships.
All these ships, they all are sinking,
With their anchors, with their sails,
To the sea floor, they're sending
All of their treasure chests,
All of their treasure chests.

All the ships are lying broken,
All the chests are lying open,
All the emeralds and rubies fall like rain from the sky.
If you want to be a rich man,
If you want to have a fortune,
Then you should remain with us,
Stay with us and be our king!
Yes you are going to be our king!

In the sea you'll be wind-sowing,
In the blue sea, in white foam:
Let ships choke in the foam,
Let them sink into the sea.
To the sea floor, they're sinking,
With their anchors, with their sails,
And then you will be the master
All of their treasure chests,
All of their treasure chests.

All the ships are lying broken,
All the chests are lying open,
All the emeralds and rubies fall like rain from the sky.
If you want to be a rich man,
If you want to have a fortune,
Then you should remain with us,
Stay with us and be our king!
Yes you are going to be our king!


The terrible Sphinx struck suddenly
Flashing his teeth, flexing his claws,
And pouncing with every bit of life.
And down fell Oedipus, unable to withstand
Quite frightened by this very quick appearance.
Such image and such speech
He barely could imagine - until now.
And yet, although the mighty paws
Of monster did push upon Oedipus' chest,
He quickly gathered strength and no longer
Was scared of the monster, for he knew
The answer beforehand and knew his victory.
And yet the victory for him just wasn't joyous.
His gaze is full with thoughts full of regret,
It doesn't fall on Sphinx, it goes further
Upon Oedipus' path, which goes to Thebes,
And which will end in town called Cologne.
The foreboding tells his spirit clearly
That Sphinx will there talk to him once more,
And those speeches will be that much harder,
Those riddles will have no certain answer.


The chilly wind and rain
Oak fears not at all.
No matter what's the weather,
The oak's standing tall.
Until the end of autumn,
An oak will be green.
The tree is quite unshaking
Eeven in times lean.


The priests have sang, the gates flung open, delighted
Kneeled the people:
A monstrous horse, with gaudy head, and gilded,
Shines like a sunlit steeple.

Woe to you, Ilion! Populous, mighty, and proud,
Woe to you Ilion!
By priestly roars and by cries of the crowd gone wild,
The cry of Cassandra - the cry of the prophet - is gone!


There may be more rain, and more cold wind,
But from warmth and light he is leaving again,
Do not hurry, wait, you can always stop!
But the road beckons, but the road awaits.

What are you searching for, vagabond child,
In country that both G-d and by people forgot?
What's that that lures you over and over?
What is your goal that just must be sought?

As to where he goes, he has no idea,
Apparently that is his doom and his fate,
Maybe there's a world in which he can just fit in,
Maybe there's a smile that is waiting for him.

What are you searching for, vagabond child,
In country that both G-d and by people forgot?
What's that that lures you over and over?
What is your goal that just must be sought?

And the flame of hope is burning,
The road of his will go just on and on.
And it may be raining, and the wind may be blowing,
He may be all alone, but he will be strong.

What are you searching for, vagabond child,
In country that both G-d and by people forgot?
What's that that lures you over and over?
What is your goal that just must be sought?


In woods the peacock cries, the rain's crushing down,
The swampy lowlands, the river valleys - flood.
The elephants in mud, they stand, the tusks raised up, not down,
The damp trunks upon the heads just like a hood.

Under the clouds palms less livelier than metal,
And overshadowing the graphite horizon,
From over the woods glares tree-shorn Alagalla,
A grey-coloured mastodon.


The sun, to lark, gives strength to sing,
It to the sun flies up and sings.
The lark-bird - of the songbirds' king,
This was decided, when the birds sought kings.

Birds' decision nightingale disregarded,
Angrily it waits until the rise of night.
When the moon comes for all to be quite regarded,
Nightingale sings its ballad with full might.

And the Fairy said: 'Why argue should they now?
Why, what foolishness their solution is!
After the morning there is evening dusk,
Its' own king daybreak and nightfall have must".


A tender inhabitant of a green copse,
Eternal favorite of never-ending youth,
Friend and companion of his mother Cypris,
The pleasant Zephyr!

If you had known all of my longings,
You, deliverer of lovers' sighs,
Hearing my cry, would tell the nymph,
That I am dying.

Once I have opened my soul to Phyllis.
Phyllis was touched by heart's hidden despair,
She even loved! But now I am fleeing
The wrath of the beautiful.

The eternal gods with paternal dedication
With humble love, the blessed sky
Will stop, when you are blessed,
The snowstorm!

And let not the gloomy cloud
At time of sunrise, onto the mountain-top
Of your fragile shoulders; may not hail hurt
Your wings forever!


Mountains huge and jagged cliffs
Like bones from the ocean rise.
Above them - shore, empty, wild,
Above them - a condor, heavy and tired.

Sunset is gone. Into the cliffs and gaps
Comes night. And pursued by darkness,
Wings overlarge, and body much too skinny,
Onto the cliffs he slowly descends.

And a long cry, a ringing cry of woe,
Sounds throughout, pitying and proud
And freezes in the sky. But not that loud

For the sky to respond. The cliffs and the sands
Are hidden by the night, and from the top does reign
The breath of death, the chill of desert's pain.


Today, I can see that your look is especially sad,
Hands - especially thin and embracing the knees.
Listen, then: far away, at Lake Chad
A giraffe walks as it would please.

A particular grace to it has been given as grace,
And a magical pattern indeed decorates its great skin,
Moon itself is alone who can match on the value of face,
Fracturing on the lakes, as its light does dive in.

From afar it does like the colorful sails of ships,
And it gracefully runs, like a flock of great birds in the flight.
And as sun downwards to the ground dips,
In its' grotto of marble hides many an earthly delight.

Fairy tales I know faraway lands,
Of the black maid, of passion of a young chief
But inhaling dark fog - many time you had on your hands,
And you don't believe save in what that does bring you your grief.

And I'll tell you about tropical lands,
About the slim palms, and the unbelievable smell.
Are you crying? Then listen to me... far away, at the Lake Chad
A giraffe is wandering - well.


A distant forest stands like a wall,
In the middle of it all,
Owl's sitting on a tree,
Hooting to grass 'Sni-usni'.

People say that grass of sleep,
Has sleeping knowledge that's so deep,
As this knowledge's utilized,
People grow sleepy-wise.

I will now ask the owl,
Give you this grass with a howl:
Among this grass you going to sleep,
And your knowledge will run deep.


If life does not
Give you plenty of gifts -
Help others, heal rifts!

Help a stranger, no matter how close,
Give a woman a ride - your name don't disclose.

Don't seek in Bible literary consolation,
Pay back the death, help the next generation.

In life feelings are close,
Like branches of an Apple tree.
You free ones that hang close - farther ones will shake themselves free.

Let at the woman,
That gave you pain,
Have people close and far smile - as to why not explain.

A soul hurt has a secret solace -
As if she was close,
Smile to a distant lass.


In the morning, after the night, which has passed
In confusion, pandemonium and suffering,
The sea arose, emitting a cry.
When finally, at last,
The cry died down and fell
Into the dumb fish depth - the sea, at last,
Gave birth.

And the moist foam shone
With the great shame of the tired waves -
And a maid arose, white and moist,
Like a fresh green leaf, when
It spreads or reveals
Its' inner side - thus her body was revealed
On the early virginal wind.

Like moons, appeared
Knees beneath the cloudy thighs,
And the narrow ankles were shadowy;
The feet glowed with tension,
And the joints were active, like throats
Of the thirsty.

In the cupped thighs, the stomach was pink,
Like a freshly picked fruit in a baby's hand.
And in the narrow cup of the smooth bellybutton
Was the entire darkness of this bright life.
The small waves still splashed,
Going up the thighs, from where
A quiet dripping still sounded.
See-through, shadowless,
Like a copse is an April, the maidenhead
Was warm, open and empty.

The live scales of the careful shoulders
Were even already
On the trunk, smooth like a fountain from a cup,
And arms were falling down like streams,
And the hair fell down, voluptuous.

From the shadow of the bent head
Rose the face, revealing -
And immediately was well-lit, locked-in
By the sharp lines of the chin.

Now the neck too became as tense as a beam,
As a stem, which brings juice to the flower,
And arms, like swans' necks,
Were already seeking shore by touch.
The body suddenly entered the morning dawn
Like morning wind, first breath.
And in the tender twigs of the vessels
A whisper grew and blood began to beat,
Filling them to the full.
And the wind gathered strength and with full
Breath he filled the white bosoms
And filled them up, and rubbed at them -
As two sails, going afar,
They brought the maid ashore.

And led her to the ground.

The one who walked on the new shores
Already shining, morning was arising,
Flowers, grasses, were warm, as if
After embrace. And she was walking on.

But at noon, the heaviest hour, once more
The sea rumbled and onto the shore
A dolphin was cast out - it was dead
Already and bloody.


Is it real or imaginary? -
Tantalus stands in a flowing stream;
A powerful thirst has cracked his lips,
A drink is close, but it is poisoned.

Tantalus is up to his neck in Moscow-river,
Up to his neck in Volga and in Ladoga;
Oh, how beautiful are these
Rainbows of oil - but a drink is needed.

There is hunger. And there is plenty
Of fruits of earth on lowered-down branches:
Feast, Tantalus, of what can you be worried?
The food is near, but it is poisoned.

What did you think? That it will be unnoticed,
That you had tried to feed human flesh to the gods?
That you can fool any
Truth - of Earth and Heaven?

But there are such women - the Erinyes,
And vengeance always follows evil.
Wait, Tantalus, wait and think -
You got an eternity in front of you.


In the waves his face flashed, all corpse-like,
With a shout, to him jumped she;
And with a shout, all ringing from joy - like -
Did two sea gulls fly, quite free.

Hal-cy-one! Love does conquer all!
Hal-cy-one! Death may take its' toll!
Hal-cy-one! Do not fear it!
Hal-cy-one! To love, death is sh*t!

Wintertime, the seashore's wild,
Sea-swells are both salty and cold.
What is a better place for nestling/child
To grow-up both strong and bold?

Hal-cy-one! Love does conquer all!
Hal-cy-one! Death may take its' toll!
Hal-cy-one! Do not fear it!
Hal-cy-one! To love, death is sh*t!

For a week, Halcyone stops singing,
For a week, the winds do stop their ringing;
Ships are spared, sea is silver-calm,
In the steppe, oxen chew their gum,
Halcyone nests this week in peace;
For his grandkids, Aeolus spares Greece.

Aeolus! Look on your descendants!
Aeolus! Death's toll's antedesendant!
Aeolus! Father to a bird!
Aeolus! What he promised, he kept word!


Scattered fiery seeds
Grow globally, without end.
The stars - the Maker's deeds -
Make one feel reverend.

But by midnight, in the East does rises,
The Saturn dead, and glistening as lead:
You, Creator, are full of surprises,
Which are vicious and mad!


Abandoning the damp bed, the gold-haired Phoebus has sent
The fast moving horses, the bane of Phaeton, after pink Eos,
Holding fast the reins, he looked around and immediately
His sharp gaze fell onto the empty shore.
There the fog rolled as from a sacrifice; the sea
Was quietly sleeping next to the empty shore; the broken boat,
Being upside down, half in the water, half
In the morning's air, was darkened by black tar - and also here,
On the left, the shards of broken fir-wood oars were scattered,
Ditto for a leather helm and shield, both full of duckweed.
Further, when the grey fog did disperse,
He saw on the grass, beneath the green cover of a chestnut,
(Having wound around it thrice, a wild grape was decking it), -
He saw the youth on the grass; the snow-white limbs
Were spread, with the right arm he seemingly pushed
His chest, and the handsome body was lying on it,
The left arm was cast askew, and the fair skin on dark
Green fragrant grass was seen in all its fairness;
The clothing was all ripped; the rounded thighs were white,
Like marble, which is shaped by a carver's arm,
The legs were showing-off their dusty feet,
The curly white hair was falling to the chest, framing
The dead strength of the face and a deeply fatal wound.


A ring of fire does surround me,
It nears, and to death it does me sentence -
Because disgusting I was born to be,
For, as a scorpion, I do lack the sentience.

My enemies look on from every side,
Nightmare, which is fatal and forever -
No escape, death is on every side,
A fire can't be beat without a lever.

But hark, however terrible for me
Relentless breath of fire,
I know just one thing, before I do expire:

I die. So what. I did challenge my fate.
In my own self did I find me doom.
A scorpion I die - both free and proud.

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