Daughter of the Sun

The wheel, oh Svarog, the Lord of sunrays,
You put beneath her feet.

She is your daughter, born where the clouds are.
Make her the crown of dreams

And on her temples this crown of flowers
Put, my almighty God.

Her naked clothing, oh, Lord of Richness,
Make of aurora's gold!

Master of Heavens, don't let them steal it,
Don't let them watch her dance,

For in her dancing there is wild spirit
And Slavic forest dense!

In solar movements death bites the living,
All worlds becoming One.

Oh, mighty Svarog, my King and Master,
Enchant me too! Be done!

And like this maiden I'll die in circle,
Beaten by mists of morn.

Accept my tribute as I am dying.
My pride shan't be forlorn!

28th of April 2002

Of Oak and Rose

Thou comest in silence. Of all my revelations
Thou art the most true one, for thou lovest with silence.
In Thine eyes the light of the amber shines
And the shadows of ancient Roman Gods.

Oh, Flower, grown on the highland meadows,
Thou dost not fear the rain nor the fury of thunder!
I am as an oak, Thou - wrapped in darkness -
Art similar to the beautiful black rose.

The cloud of time is floating above us.
In the valley the wind decorates the trees with coldness.
We are lasting - the two of us - in the soft, white mist.

The worlds disappear, the stars run into the nothingness,
The hard mountain soil smells with the night already.
I fall into Thee. Thou entwinest me.

20th of September 2012

The Ritual

Into the lake my soul was thrown,
Into the haze where Sun doth dawn
With its majestic lustrous eye

Where darkened fog comes to an end
Through troubled waters I ascend
To claim the throne of endless light

Woe to the gods that cannot lead
Whilst judging humans by their deeds
The wisdom true comes out of lore

Oh, mighty forest, hear my name
And set the dying world aflame
My spirit lies upon these shores

30th of June 2012

Breathlessness

A wooden dream. The white fog and black river.
Sadness goes 'round from one hut to another.
No sound at all. Even dogs being silent.
The speechless wind - like a willow-shaped ghost.

And then this willow, that burden that bends her,
Burden of life over indolent river.
Another god falls there into oblivion.
The universe - lurking over the fence.

Lightly and airily, heavily, grimly.
Thunder - the one of no sound and no power -
Lightens the blurred, sleepy brinks of the village.
The run. The silkness. Soft touch of the night.

And - with illusions of this feral twilight -
I hear the voices, some entangled moaning.
No, 'tis not moaning: the stars in the distance
Through rotten fence into village distill.

9th of June 2013