Dream Note No. 15 – Капли Дождевые

Falling, into the depth, hark –
the howling of this dry youthful well;
there are clouds within my heart,
where raindrops hardly hold themselves.

In history’s stain the victors are righteous,
for we neglect the passing hours;
whether autumn answers winter’s calls,
who is the arbiter of this lawless world?

In dreams the righteous are victorious,
for the unrighteous act of playing God;
behind a veil old faces return,
when the lifeless dreams in a raindrop.

Such speed is this reckless world,
for the world is our ambitious task;
yet do you know that ambitions are,
but a veil for our anxious heart.

For the beauty of life I weep,
for the meaning we did not cherish,
bestowed upon life by our artful soul,
and buried in dust by the mindless ghoul.

For our withering friends I weep,
for their love that gave beauty meaning,
for the heartful letter that gave way to text,
for my wilted regret, when raindrops fall.

Dream Note No. 14 – Five Nightmares

The steel helmets march in,
decimating this lifeless land;
in anguish the helpless burn,
on black marshes the children stand.

There is nothing I could do,
for in paralysis I lay bare,
when children ran in on the spectacle,
of a cherished yet forsaken mare.

In dreams I dream of my airy cask,
in the air I wield a blunted sword,
again before this old indigo dusk,
resolute and honest does the blade thrust.

In estranged land she brings to me,
fruits from a lake of blood,
formed as the emperor’s dessert,
into crumbles the world shatters.

O what before a long sleep stand,
when in sleep we dream of this prelude,
tormented and morphed into despair,
in sleep I sleep in a no-return land.

Yet strange it is the barrel shakes not,
for all but episodes of a crimson plot,
when snow falls on a traveller’s path,
as light drapes over a loveless knot.

Published in: on 05/01/2020 at 10:07 AM  Leave a Comment  
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The Inner Joy of Void

Gently the bliss on my velvet fall,
as the lights lower along the pastel wall;
in limestones our righteous histories carved,
of bitter airs, of a lover’s recall.

Silence drapes the romantic road,
no end in sight near this ending note;
patiently, among the silent I tread,
awaiting my end with an endless woe.

In company of the tavern crowd,
dancing and singing in their earthly shrouds;
in ecstasy our souls toward the darkness plunge,
transcending above the winter clouds.

Desires call for desires’ end,
for endless cycles for the eternal trend;
for what the bloodless rivers flow?
In a new spring again the flowers grow.

Who shall walk on this little road,
when absent souls for the study search,
in which the devoted scribe his words,
away casted, from the church?

As for me, who is a prosaic man,
playing life for the pleasure of wine;
yet still at times I return to the harrowing hill,
playing God, for the void Inferno in my mind.

1 Jan 2020
Košice

Dream Note No. 13 – Chopin

An arrival at a lodging by the sea,
like a piece from Aivazovsky;
with a party under the old pine bridge,
the trial sets our afflictions free.

The impending waves our comrades flank,
yet in peace and grace advances our rank;
on the rocky islet our senses embrace,
the scent of roses from a whitened bank.

Under the staircase the catacombs call,
at my retreat under the noble floor;
I chance upon your slumbering notes,
in a dark gallery by a marble door.

From nowhere chants a nocturnal plea,
as buried ghosts cling to their creed;
though the earthy waves their mirrors purge,
in ashes the familiar shadows they see.

Published in: on 04/11/2019 at 10:21 PM  Leave a Comment  
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Dream Note No. 12 – Жаворонок

Empty handed on an empty stage,
fingers frozen in a distant past;
forgotten melodies on an empty page,
forgotten friends in a wooden cast.

Which notes recount the summer days,
when dreams of winter imbue my heart?
Which, songs would autumn praise,
no more, he hears of the youthful lark.

For whom, the rainbow? They ride a gale,
riding along an unmarked road;
defiled by his vulgar flail,
redeemed by his Opheliac abode.

Cherished in his bloodstained hand,
memories to their gazes chained;
before the homely gates they stand,
that began with the windows stained.

By the balcony the lovebirds part,
with sweet murmurs of delicate love;
as she falls toward the lavish pines,
as marble before a labyrinth he stands.

The silent intruder the libraries hail,
in arias from his nightly ghost;
down he spirals on a silvery trail,
what courage he finds in this abyssal host.

Still the larks are in peace asleep,
as he steps onto the reminiscent rug;
urgency calls for a unexamined sweep,
for the night too shall return to sleep.

Yet reveries stun his capricious mind,
as old age returns with a blissful light;
as the silvery trail become diamond steps,
from his cello the lark takes flight.

Published in: on 12/09/2019 at 4:54 PM  Leave a Comment  
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Reluctant Waves

At a walking pace,
the waves gently sway,
a cat naps in her cradle
above a restful lake.

The flowers happily bloom,
the swans open their wings,
to welcome the summer days,
when the air coruscates.

Yet my days are overcast,
for none but the lonely heart,
for the darkest shadows are,
by all other shadows marred.

My heart longs for winter,
when the shy roads are draped
in a shimmering furry coat,
beneath a silent black cloak.

Published in: on 09/06/2019 at 11:47 PM  Leave a Comment  

Summer Mist

In the mist I see,
a hand skipping to the summer romance,
lost in the overhasty wind,
never arriving at a cadence.

Fazed at this dissonance
with no intention of taking leave,
drowning in the shimmering fire
that seems almost immortal.

Unreflective is this mirror,
banished from his trance,
in this summer mist,
where the heart plays chance.

The long days are divided,
with light taking her side,
yet for the night I long,
when muses would bring my bride.

Art! The calling from a soul
who murmurs from afar,
leaving this spiritless ghoul
atop a spellbinding cart.

In this wasteland,
I trudge my way forth,
fighting my mortal self,
who had left spring behind.

Published in: on 09/06/2019 at 11:08 PM  Leave a Comment  

How Life Works

How life works, I wish I know,
before I am too frail and slow,
before I forget how eyes could cry,
in the seasons when rivers flow.

How life works, I no longer know,
how a word into stories grow,
though have voyages me well scarred,
her secrets are buried inside the snow.

Where is the youth I cannot recall?
Why is wisdom more distant still?
For what quests did my spirits drudge?
For what on earth do I plough?

What love is I wish I know,
thus so knowledge may knowingly go,
above my fifth the ravens sing,
marking my unresolvable woe.

Published in: on 04/03/2019 at 1:34 AM  Comments (1)  

Dream Note No. 11 – White Moscow

Nothing stirs in the early hours,
save the silent falling of moon dust,
onto the windows of the Kremlin towers,
into white hills on the red square.

We trod along the silvery road,
marked each path with our toiling past,
yet the holy tears are silent and cold,
blotting out our fervent errs.

In the outskirts the rustling leaves,
are swaying with the howling gust;
the uninvited guest they must receive,
quivering in the wintry air.

Than deific voices colder still,
silencing silence with mortal casks,
swiftly it faded by the heavenly will,
into red hills on our white despair.

Published in: on 26/02/2019 at 12:43 PM  Leave a Comment  
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Snow Waltz

Thus so again I stand before
the gates of my dear old friends,
a wordless song for the days afore
the glory of your perfect cadence.

Gently the pastel airs enshroud
our peace from all mortal affairs;
as we pace o’er the earthly cloud
under a golden chandelier.

Through a lyrical haze I recall
flowers and fences above my grave;
sighs of your virtues and my fall,
in white letters the paths they pave.

In crosses the skeletal trees they guard
our sins beneath the livid air –
the troubles of a fleshly heart
in romances of the silence we share.

Published in: on 04/02/2019 at 4:10 AM  Leave a Comment