Hope

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Piercing the darkness with his swirling sword,

ha awoke a glimmer of Hope.

Together with Yearning inside, remembered the

melody of a time when Time stood still.

 

Ancient Chorus,

an eternal aria,

Choir of Angels,

the greatest Opera:

Hear the Harp —

as it plucks,

and it strums, strums, strums

in a lyrical delight.

Keeping time, time, time,

In a sort of Runic rhyme.¹

Hear the Chimes —

as they ring, ring, ring,

announcing the spring

in a glory of the night,

in a holy, choral glory of the night.

Hear the Glockenspiel —

it thrills in a tinkle,

as it twinkles the sparks,

sparks, sparks, sparks,

as it tinkles and it twinkles

in the enlightened, shining beauty of the dark.

Hear the Bassoon —

glorious in tune,

that gentle, vocal monsoon,

as it moans, moans, moans

in a guttural, orotund groan,

calling upon the white, laden Moon,

and a Star… star, star, star…

Penetrating the atmosphere with sound —

that harmonious , profound orchestra —

on the bottom of the down,

down, down, down.

Keeping time, time, time,

In a sort of Runic rhyme.

Everlasting in the sky:

a Song of Winds,

the Melody carried

on celestial Wings…

 

… enveloping the fury,

taking over the Steed,

and He felt the Love of One

as the horn broke and fell,

his colors faded with the wind,

he shrunk and swayed. Standing still —

back on the undulating pastures — a Horse

with no wings, among many others.

Loving and calm.

Grazing the fragrant grass,

listening for a river in the distance.

 

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¹Remembering the Greats: Edgar Allan Poe, The Bells.

 

Fury

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In a dim hour of Dusk

the stroke of furies broke afar.

Once chained by the strength of winds,

with intense yearning Steed restrained,

this instant was the victim of the dark.

 

Led by a blind faith,

greed of a flame and pride,

shameless; wishing for the brake of Dawn —

he was summoned by a false sky

into Twilight:

Where smoking wraiths sway,

where the lightning of sin strikes aloud,

where temperance is gone and wisdom fades,

where the hope even in dreams cannot be found.

There came the horned emperor,

on the wings of evil beings.

 

The regime of Underheaven keeps world’s lies

poisoning the soul of the Earth child.

Strews turmoil, pain, fear and war…

Until Death takes home

tormented core of the mankind.

 

But the Death is not there, in the fright horizon —

she seeks serenity, peace and Eden.

Yearns for pure mind and a Beginning in the End.

She — the queen with no judgment, the sister of Life,

this night was deterred by thunder.

Electric needles falling on the entrance;

she can’t get near the breaking being,

so calls for help the eternal kin:

“Father — transcendent peace, Endless Love!

Dear brother — short-lived idyll tortured by darkness,

enlightened by mind!

Seize the unseenable dusk,

obliterate dark and darnel!

Let us offer serenity and paradise!”

The answer fell carried by winds of silence;

two speak as one:

“The trial stays with he who pursues

our scopes before time.”

 

Verdict echoes with truth. The battle lasts now.

 

Shimmering seeker of the Universe

strikes the bottom with hooves.

 

With a force of furious despair,

maelstrom of sharp crest,

with weapons of dreams,

colors of fugacious spring —

the massive Steed shields.

 

Whirlpool of evil — masked with mirrors.

 

With rage of fury,

bursting jolt,

burning current,

with loathing terror-woven —

hails the ghastly collapse.

 

Over the meadow of the Mythical Steed,

a Star has now ceased…

 

…in the midst of Heavens It beholds:

Where smoking wraiths sway,

where the lightning of sin strikes aloud,

where temperance is gone and wisdom fades,

where the hope even in dreams cannot be found…

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The Wisher of Wings

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Blue laden Moon hanged aloft.

Hiding in the corner of nature is Hope;

while over the meadow of the Mythical Steed,

a Star is falling and falling…

On its peak the Meaning concealed,

the bottom kept a secret of Dawn,

both sides thinning and thinning,

pouring into the Endless Love.

 

The green hornet flew above the pastures,

searching for the wellspring of Wisdom,

thinking about the smell of roots…

He trotted beside.

 

Vast and vigorous, with tightened muscles,

the mane undulated by a whiff of  Zephyr,

he was tall and wispy, gold and silver,

with a deep black stare.

 

Anchored in direction of his aim,

he abandoned his home long ago,

yearning for indigo skies

slowly drove him away.

The Star is summoning to its realm.

 

His nostrils wide, breathing painfully;

sore legs and clenched chest,

Yet he cannot stop. The desire is great:

He would soar into the dome of clouds.

 

The swirl of his horn pulling him to the ground,

steam stemming out of his pores,

stepping over the soft, fragrant grass…

(but he cannot stop, no, he cannot stop).

 

The river flows by, gurgling drops of blue light,

dry is the tongue, the burning mouth…

Home is calling aloud.

 

Swarm of bees buzzing in the mind,

flock of birds is pecking about,

just a few thoughts — few bright sparks:

The Wings are there! Endure! Come on!

 

… slowly reaching the end of the road,

down-at-heel steps — he’s walking now,

laden as the Moon, as pendulum sways,

nearing the edge of depths…

 

Hiding in the corner of nature is Hope,

while over the meadow of the Mythical Steed,

a Star is falling and falling…

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Contemplation (Pastures of the Universe)

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This damp, drizzly morning

I saw a wing of a butterfly —

gentle, little… blue and sprinkled.

I felt a whiff of zephyr —

light, fragrant… undulating.

None can fly close to the cloudy Sky.

 

Suspicious Sun yearns for the empyrean,

raising its head and grinning towards a

savory Pasture.

The prickle of a green hornet seems terrifying,

It buzzes around, hums, breathes deeply and wonders

why won’t I get out of Its way.

But It cannot reach the topmost needle of a conifer.

 

Brisk eve hints of rime.

A little finch is sleeping on a stump;

I approach steadily.

The horn doesn’t frighten It,

neither does my black stare.

Ash and autumn cover that small body;

the wings carry It to the spring and back —

unable to gain height.

 

I became a birdwatcher today:

magical crow, wise and beaky raven,

surplus magpie, sparrow-hawk ready to hunt,

euphonious nightingale, humorous mockingbird,

friendly sparrow, a powerful wren…

At nightfall the Moon is white.

I’m welcoming it and pondering still:

Who’s Wings lead to the Pastures of the Universe?

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Hopelessness (Cosmic Steed)

Photo taken from Phot Photo Photo From: fineartamerica.com; made by Dave Bowman.

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Over there, at the bottom of a Star

The Eyes have hidden a secret.

Answer fell with a gleam of the night.

My pinnacle is farther still, I cannot see its end in front of me;

If I had Wings I would know the way back.

 

Sunset in a Red Cave isn’t capable of imagining.

Sparks of Universe at the bottom of the ocean. Hard catch.

Caped failure and judgment. The world is too small for us;

to hide a secret is hard. No one can do that beside the Eyes and a hair.

 

Tails are smacking the dots in flight,

vapor is coming out of me.

Hooves are breaking the stone,

yet the water is rigid, piercing the skin.

The Yellow Moon sings with a whisper,

I’m neighing along with its voice.

Twisted horn sends a thought of home to the wind:

Lend me a safe journey at least.

With Heaven’s Wings I’m swimming on dry land.

Such is my destiny. I remain forever a Steed.

Without Feathers. The one who cries a Cosmic war.

The one who doesn’t bleed.

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Yearning

Photo taken from: fineartamerica.com; made by Caroline Jamhour

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Many syllables ago Yearning came my way:

It slid across the desert floor, over the icy hills.

Flew against bright, iron winds and ran on legs of ease,

then dove under the babbling drops of Sunrise

and through the White Abyss.

It swam the pastures, engulfed the trees,

frightened the Birds of Paradise;

without remorse It took the feathers 

from their wings and gave them colors

of eternal spring.

It forgot about long-lost melodies of a time

when Time stood still.

Yearning entered the blaze –

came out unfazed, forever unchanged.

It knew the path to my hearth,

In a herd of manes It knew my name,

And so the Yearning whispered…

Oblivious to all the rest, I heard:

Let me in.

And so I did.

From that moment on

I’ve become known as

The Wisher of Wings.

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