WHERE MIGHTY WINDS SING THEIR SONGS

And a red boltless lightning has come,
Tearing storm-clouds into shreds small, 
Trimming her attire with them,
Turning dark vaults into horses rathe,
Distant stars into allies leal,
Endowing us with forces for battles,
And she told us frankly,
Its high time we came back to earth
Where winds sing their songs to Morena.

Too long we wandered in our lands,
In moonless and sunless light,
Knowing nothing, but sorrow and grief,
Like wolves, prowling lonely.

Where mighty strong winds
Sing their prideful songs to Morena

Teardrops on the cheeks of  the northern warriors
Are not teardrops of grief and of sorrow,
Theyre brought to eyes by a hard winter frost,
Hatefully leading us to the battle against foes.

Where winds conflow with hymns to Morena
And our triumph

Funeral pyres burn in the night
As blood pours on the frozen ground,
Our steel bites as death grip
Warriors wear the sign of triumph

Where ground hardens 
In blood, pain, hate
And frost of Death

We shall not yield no inch of our land
Where reigns handsome Morena
That our foes dread more than death,
Therefore we should not fear.
 
And a red boltless lightning shall come again
But not the way as before,
As we possess the virgin lands
Where Morena breeds forces of Nature,
Wrapping us in an ancient aura with care.
Where mighty strong winds 
Sing their songs about absolute purity.



CRIMSON LINES (ABOUT THE UNIVERSAL WORLD)

Crimson lines will bleed through later In glitters of all-devouring evening fog. And no matter how you stare, it will be always behind, but ahead the thoughts, outrunning the air currents of the temporal space. 

Pettiness and wretchedness
Is the pantheon of this life,
Like a harrowing groan pours
My century-old fatigue

I am willing to fly through the years
Ahead mists and frosts
To escape from this blood-red pain
Of all right and holy.

Through the branches of the gnarled trees
To look with the mask of a decrepit Death,
Like a bird, hovering in the skies,
Infinitely and freely

Forested hillsides
Will be my mirror,
Wind, hateful and gelid,
Will be my ears.

Cunning weakness
Of the fairy deities
Confined to the frowzy air,
Hideous and lifeless.

Play music of life,
Exalting avarice of the desires,
Splendour of the false realities,
Play with delight!

Few are the dwellers of the forest,
But Mother Nature will give us powers.
We are prepared for the storm,
We are motionless and in silence.

The skies will solemnly blaze up,
It will be the omen,
And riding the evil snowstorms 
We rushed towards

Storm Scream Pain
Will flow from the war-horn
Void Dust Dark
To start afresh

Twilight illusion of the universal (new) world is still excruciating many minds, but no one dares to take the first step where lies the Unknown. Gates to purity and harmony.
