Neclace of tearsBetween a circle of ancient stones,Seated under starlit skies,Three pilgrims of the time,Under graying capes of dust,Sing poems to the flames.As the first one ends,So the next one starts,Aligning pearls under waves,Under edges of ether-flames,Like poison-ivies of starlit skies.One from other, more grievous,One from all the others deeper,Like lead-drops down the throat,Upwards the chants align,Pouring through the rippling winds.As the first one ends,So the next one starts,To coddle fierce vultures,To break the flames with pearls,By shining necklace-tears.Under starlit skies they flow,Front the altar of sadness they pride,Stringing and the times aligning,For stone-shut words unbroken,By tender tear outshined.
Small cirus of serenityOver the red, wooden bed where I slept since I was little,On the ceiling of withered, scratched and yellowed lime,I watched the crumbled pieces, as I did frequently.The cracks were my only fun during the summers.I often watched the old fox and chariot archer,As they chased forever in their mangled poses,With wide legs and short limbs, in odd forms,In their grey silhouettes of old cement.When I was nervous or happy, I watched them,How they always did the same, without change.They were never nervous or happy.They were always themselves, same and unique.Once, another piece of lime broke-off beside them.Now, a small caravan joined the chase.It came out of nowhere, entered the circle, and stayed.I imagined a small circus that played and lived somewhere.Time passed, and a new layer of lime covered them.Now, no one could see them, they were invisible for all,But I saw them still, I imagined them every night,And they lived again and chased in circles.I moved out of the coun
StarfallFrom an equal equality,She began to harvest me,Then threw me away,To burn me on the fire,Of my own flesh,And seed it a thousand fold.Then she heard me,And sent her tears,Like a Rain of Stars.Within the seven craters,Of the silver comets,On her cry I spread.In their blue depths,I built the bases to the pillars,Of my black Necropolis.
The cry of the stringsHe spread his heart,As a string on the violin,Of black rose wood.He stuffed his voice,And let it through the wood,To flow and freeze like smoke.With his hand, he petted his soul,And from its light,He made a bow.Then struck hard over heart strings,So they would cry under torn skies,And tare them down whole apart.And what mad man asked,Why the violin strings,Began to bleed...
Trapped in stoneOver what waters you shall step, goddess,When blue flames will coat you?Over what countries you shall walk,When two suns will burn in the west?Over what fields you shall sleep and dream,When emerald wreaths will sing over stones?For which people love-bites you shall steal,When theyll seed pearls over your temple?Why do you wait for mercy, goddess,When you have the secret in your hands already?For whom the bells shall toll then,When you will be in black coated?The bells shall sing for both, then,In scented noon on silvering hills,One for you, trapped in stone,Other for me - dead, yet alive.
Two worldsAt the end of my grey gaze,In front, towards the horizon,With the breath upon which blindly,Even the stars screamed with pain,I conquered you...I crucified my black skin,Like a banner of triumph,To flutter while crimson rains burn.To break the gazes from the top of the world,To kill you with pleasure...And you saw that they werent in vain,All the deep and bitter, red scars,Which upon the wooden tongues,My black-swan feather put.They alone crowned me...Even though I flooded with my own blood,This universe of brilliant evil,Only my brothers drank it.No one who deserved its flames,Didnt even smell it...I poured in screams, I dried myself out,And through my bones the roots pervaded,And even they dried out and died,Yet the poison stayed to boil.But I had still conquered you...Now free, I will bury my goblet,Filled with dense, ancient, black wine,Useless for all, yet priceless for me,Down in the darkness, in the Necropolis,Once and for all...Af
Under the grey bootIn a grey day,Because of one stab...How could they?I didnt ask them.Not them,Nor their vanity.But how could they,Fall alone,Spread down miserably,In front of the dense lead river,And beg for death,Before the common, simple pain?Are they slaves now,Even to their own bodies?Do they have to serve,Even them now?Even those only ones,In whom they are alone?Well how could have,A simple and stupid,Grey matter entrap them,And keep them so hard?Could they be so weak,Could they be so faint?I didnt ask them,They are too proud,But I knew.So, I as well,Laid down without a word,Under the grey boot...