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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