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The elder women walked
the dry land for twelve days
None of the sand-demons found them

The white garden
shall remain unseen
'till the angel's corpse
sprouts from the earth's belly

When will the golden hawks
be free again?
The walls of Jerusalem
had almost fallen down

In every crown
the lidless eye
is placed
The Fortnight of Fire
has finally come again

Finding me supine,
gazing up the smoke
wrapping the vegetation of dusk

The old barges are ready to depart,
carrying the tar of our previous year wishes
I hope the spar won't collapse...
May the wind be propitious

Now the currants in the garret
are ripen enough
Can't you hear their rattle
amidst the dead of night?

Now its time for all the lidless eyes
to sprout again
For the Fortnight of Fire
has already begun...
Quarters like fire drops
which kiss this dry land

Within the wheel of time,
a black pebble has fastened

But where is the river
upon which our passions float?

All whirlpools lead you into that seaweed
that's been sprouted merely for you
I                  

Their voice rapped the portals
and from the dim smoke
a white pigeon sprung
and followed the trail downwards

The crests of the churches,
sharp shelters for the wounded
that come from above
and from below

Are the firmaments raining fire?
For my eyes have filled with tears of black
and my soul's purified

Is this your delivering message?
For lakes, mountains,
beasts and humans are waiting,
and we shall always do

                  II

Will the Theatre of Pain
be utterly empty one day?

We are actors that do not dare
to read the elder lines
Nomads amidst the sandstorm
in our sinful minds

Shall I drink my animal's blood?
For my people's thirsty for salvation
in this deserted land
and I only saw once a roaming scrap
from your royal garments

Faith is hanging from a thread
And only in the night-praying hours
the poetry's lines true shine

Do not be the actor
that turns his back
on the crowd's clapping

                 III

Everything is appointed
the prophets have spoken

Will, you always love
those who betray?
Spreading words of hope
to the humble with burned faces

The needy have already
flooded the empty rivers
and Pharaoh's wrath is not well locked

I know not how many
are living up there
but I do know how many
are building the realm of Hades

The flame shall kneel before you
and oceans will be divided into two
Once the ominous words
are heard inside your Temple again
This poem is influenced by the sacred music of Father Serafim and his chants from Georgia. I cite the link below
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OB3B3flMjsM
Cursed for tearing apart the last pages
before the tolling of the bell

Another poet's raven has made a nest
deep inside the woods of the dead

Why are you afraid of dying
when you do not live either?

I have hidden my soul's sparkle
inside a statue's neckless in the Necropolis

I'm crossing the borders of your mind
wearing a coat made of storm-clouds

Lord of darkness
please be my guide
My monastery is nothing
but crimson dusk
poured inside the veins
of this grove

Love to drink the liquid
from the evening's injection

My body's organs to be dried
with purple blood
In my literature
you are everything
I choose you to be

In my life
you are everything
you choose to be
More of quote instead of a poem, I know...
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