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This
road leads through rivers of hot blood,
Through
streams of tears and glow of distant fire.
In
wartime, from the hate it'll bud
And
drown the whole world in dright desire.
For
it the only instant lasts like life,
And
every minute steps of Death are heard.
The
eyes will sparkle in the glimmer of the knife,
It
means much more than any spoken word.
The
beat of waiting heart seems thunderpeal,
And
fear fetters in its ice embrace.
You
forget everything, but you remember that you will
Follow
your life, your destiny, and you love's trace ...
***
When
threads of death, of life, of fate
Bind
into dense and mystic knot,
When
light comes dark and our mate,
When
our blood is seething, hot.
When
doors are open to new distant space,
When
the attracting dazzling light calls you,
When
all you want is to find trace
Of
something slipping like the morning dew.
When
runic wrightings flash in flaming brain,
When
come to life all ancient legends, dreams,
When
you feel thoughts of every king who'd ever reigned,
And
tender, warm, drawing in streams.
You'll
follow it and forget everything you knew,
You'll
close your eyes and jump towards the sky.
It's
other life, it will be better, new,
You
will be happy there, only try!
You
have the magic power, use it now, be quick,
Just
give up something and you'll do the trick.
***
The
souls of ancestors are looking from the stars,
And
ancient gods are angry just behind the mist;
All
sacred fears bound with faith make strong bars
And
mortal prohibitions hold the wrist.
Grey-haired
sages telling ballads and the truth,
Returning
time and place of heroes of old;
Unbidden
tears running down the cheeks from ruth
That
I'm not there; heart squeezes with cold.
Oh,
how to melt in winter roaring storm,
And
how to fly on these weak wings through thick of times
To
that one whom I'm waiting for and give him warm,
I'm
always keeping in my heart and in my rhymes?..
***
He
had his home and native village long ago,
And
pritty bride, who waited for him after bloody fights.
Now
he is lost without his former glow,
And
wolfish cry breaks from his breast at moonlit nights.
He
fought a lot of battles for his king,
He
owned the best arms and fame.
And
now he values only this old little ring,
He
lives, but he is like a dead, without hope and aim.
He's
still a soldier, fights for other people's lords,
They
call him Bloody Devil without soul and pain.
But
every moment silently at heart he prays the gods
For
being taken by the Death and mourned by silver rain.
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