HE IS THE SON

He is the One

Who promised was

The Wizard of Oz

The King of Wands

The hymn of Morse

The Raven of Rose

Who sees through the sky

Who knows he dies

To be back again

To wander through rain

And fog and the pain

Will leave my domain

For good – from this day

My Word will remain

Like my golden rain

Like the dove of love

Like lightning above

The waters that start

The day that was dark

The evening of hope

The slippery slope

The legend of Doom

For those who loom

Above their night

To growing delight

Of my shining flight -

My Order of Knights

Is giving you rights

To speak what abides

On maiden who writes

The verses of skies

Who trembles instead

When her daily bred –

Her poems - are sad

To hear that Dad

Is asking his Ann

To stop beating ‘em

For her understanding

Of what happy ending

They bring her in plight

To say that her right

To finish what started

The day when her papa

Accepted the illness

Of sadness and stillness

That plagues many cities

And aches through the ethers

The only redemption to which is the love

To planet and people and all the above

And all the below and all that remains

Unspoken, unseen, ungathered, unveiled

By order of those who wants that the pain

Will stop manifesting in Children of Rain

Who fly to the planet of stardom and gloom

To make it arena of wisdom and boom

Of prophets and seers through all thinning mirrors

And vanishing glasses, and listening ears

To what has become the myth and the tale

About finding Holy the Grail.

And so the story begins; it will last

Till star super nova will finally blast

Through ethers to home where she will resign

To Sparkling White Dome to ever be Mine.

Thus spoke ONE WHO REMAINS

WHO HE IS

Who wants you to be his special niece

Who wants you to know about his gift

Of being star nova who needs to be swift

In telling the story to people in need

About the Children of Rain who indeed

Will come very soon to the planet of doom

To change it to subject of mercy and room

For many artistic endeavors and talent  

To see through the veils and ever be valiant

In fighting Old Order of changing the human  

To what was portrayed in the Show of Truman.

To fasten your belts, you don’t need to know

The middle and end of upcoming show,

You need to be cautious in choosing the words

For words are the whistles for tempering swords

Of truth and rendition, of fighting the stars

Who think their only weapon’s guitar

And ever mistaken, for tongue is the force

That renders the entrance through many of doors

For which to begin, we need to be fighting
With out lores, traditions and fears

Of going through doors that seem so rare

To open until we cross our borders

And stop to follow permanent orders

To be isolated, competitive beings

And start integrating our feelings

With our knowledge of what we don’t know

And for this we need the star super nova

To render the story a different perspective

On why do we need to be calculative

To answer the question of why we come here

To live and to die to only adhere

To limited rules of game and behavior 

That leads to abuse and belief in the saviour

Who cures the illness instead of the patient

And renders the stillness to each single nation

That wants to hold dear its holy traditions

And conquers its need for its own volition.

Она не знает горестных смятений,

Пред ней все песнопения равны,

Она вкушает их пыльцу без промедленья,

С себя снимая новый круг вины

За то, что их размером зарядившись,

Она без сожаленья отдает

Им той любви пример, что в ритме отразившись

Их размышлений, новый свет прольет

На все бесстрастные рабочих заявленья

О том, как их цветочек путь во мгле нашел

К тем, кто отдав себя их бурному цветенью,

Земле предав, сады все обошел

Не в поисках потока вдохновенья,

Земли чудес и таинств бытия,

А заслужить надежду исцеленья

От глухоты и выпить из ручья

Его закона совершенства, и обитель,

Открыв свои сомкнутые врата

Для тех, кто разомкнул священное соитье

Трудов и веры, чем закрыл уста

Не только он поверившей в их музе

Рожденный бит и млечные слова,

Но и свои ослабил с песнопеньем узы,

Раскинув сети лишь в поселке, где царит молва,

Которая прикинувшись размолвкой,

Сумела снова путь к писанью проложить

Ее избранника в обличьи мышеловки

И тем опять свое призванье заслужив,

Она вкусила от откушенной морковки

Ее поклонником с завидною сноровкой.

   - Aня