throughancienteyes

[throughancienteyes]

Bulgaria

There was a girl

I was thirteen

so was she.

She used to sing,

so did I.

I stood in the classroom

ready to tell her

how I felt.

But a man came

taller than me

older than me,

I hoped wiser than me,

quiet terror in her eyes,

as he grabbed her

in his burly arms,

and she was gone.

|

That night

a dream came to me

a man

drinking from a skull,

blood falling down

his burly arms.

|

Next morning I came to her

to tell her how i felt,

but he came again

fearsome and strong.

This time I would not be a coward!

So I shouted “Stop!”

But I only met cold steel

the barrel of a gun

instead of her voice

to greet my morning.

Frozen I watched

as she was taken

my destiny forsaken.

|

Asleep in my dreams

I saw four walls

charred to black

the saints adorned them

but so did the screams

women and children

burned inside.

|

So I went to the house

her grandparents built not for themselves

but for her,

and I saw the old eyes, distant, almost not there

“She is gone, he took her

away from the mountain

away from the forest

away from her friends

to a place full of the shadows of men

a place of gilded masks

a grey cage

a prison for a bird

to sing to conrete.“

|

So I dreamt that night

how I sat with a thousand men

not men but shadows

as the lights lit a cage

and we watched her sleep,

and then he came

the man who took her away

and he took her in her sleep

and all the shadows

in which i wanted to share

the mysteries of the night with her,

all the shadows laughed.

So I ran from this stage

and I fell amidst the laughter.

|

|

|

Until I awoke in a strange distant land

surrounded by gilded murderers

and stoned poets

all alone

and I could not remember -

What was her name?

What was her name??

|

|

|

|

|

|

One sun is needed

for the sunflowers to blossom

and one sun was needed

for her cheeks to blush.

But Man decided to light a thousand

so I stood and watched

as the nuclear winter

covered my land in quiet burning snow.

There was a body

right in front of my window.

So I ran

it was her,

dead but not frozen

scorched but bleeding

like those saints

a wound that would not heal

so I cradled her in my arms

but there was no breath

no song.

Only a rope

a fallen rope

on which her dress was caught

and it glistened in the tired sun

white her shoulders

like the peaks of our home

green her waist

like the womb of our home.

So I began to pull the rope

as if that would bring her back

I screamed to all the wretches

all the homeless men

callling them to pull,

and as it arose

we saw the last part of the dress

rise from the crimson blood,

red, like all of us.

So the dress glowed in the sun

arisen again

as it did so many times before.

[throughancienteyes]

Do You Remember

Do you remember

that ending

of that song

with a gentle wistfullness

in the echo

of the last note.

Like that final

raindrop

crawling down the last

orange leaf,

when again

you went out naked,

under the downpour,

naked,

but free.

Like that last star,

under which you wonder -

why did I not share

the night’s mysteries

in the dark forest?

Do you remember?

When you were comically lanky.

Do you remember?

When you used to promise.

- W-what?

What did I promise?

What did I forget?

What am I forgetting?

Every day,

always there

behind the sunrise,

which evermore

watches me,

calling me

with its rays.

[throughancienteyes]

Only Wind Am I

dedicated to "The Lake Sleeps" by Pencho Slaveykov

Only wind am I,

winding down the valleys,

kissing the brook,

wildly

singing

among the ancient pines

and dying

over the mountain lake,

in love

with the reflection of a sunset,

in a world,

blanketed with miracles,

the waters asleep

they promise me

starry skies.

[throughancienteyes]

Waterfalls

My love

will kill me,

if i don’t kill

her first,

if i dont close it in a safe

at the bottom of the sea

or freeze it

in kilometres

of mountain snow,

if i dont lock it

in that black room

at the abyss of the heart

or crush it with my hands

until the heart is gone.

A fragile dead body.

What are these tears now?

Stupid,

self-pitiful

waterfalls,

but why?

When i can sell it

so that she will no longer be “Mine“,

and just someone else’s,

with a contract

written with a heart

with an attachment

of all our postcards

and that

fragile

dead

body.

No, no,

what are these waterfalls?

Rivers of sorrow,

is it possible?

Is it possible I pity myself

that I will not be there anymore

if i do this?

Lets just keep it for now

in an old forgotten drawer

and pretend

that I am with her still

and that for her

I am always right,

and thus to live

in the cold winter,

rich as a count

with a golden heart

generous like everyone

that is merciful to someone,

and to return

always

unexpectedly for me

ever more frequently

to that drawer,

where i forgot,

what i used to be,

opening the old lock

to look through the dusty shadow

these two eyes

so large

watching me from within

with a little respite

with a lot of hope

that i will again be

sunny like her

fragile and infinite,

like her

that we will again be

two fragile

little

children.

[throughancienteyes]

The struggle

The struggle

is mercilessly cruel

and beautiful

and sweet

and full,

with so many wonderful

young souls,

that even our blood

on the squares

the streets,

the fields

and the mountains

will shine beautifully

on this earth

that we will finally

deserve.

[throughancienteyes]

Love is known...

Love is known, not at its birth, but at its death, at which point one either runs away from it, looking for another sentimentality, or faces it, and embraces it through the eyes of death.

[throughancienteyes]

The patient and the hesitant

The patient one wins the battle, the one who does not hesitate wins the war.

[throughancienteyes]

Susanne was a typical teenager

Susanne was a typical teenager, until she read this blog…

[throughancienteyes]

A life well lived

A life well lived is not a preparation for the perfect moment, it is owning in the current moment, as it is.

[throughancienteyes]

In this Shell

In this shell is hidden,

all my love.

A small, stupid rodent,

for you I will put on an apron

and for you I will be

a mother, father. a cook

just so that

I can watch you

laugh

at my lines.

When I turn white

I will also carry you

and sing to you

about a forest, a deer and a woodpecker,

my dear,

a love out of a fairy tale,

how wonderfully you rose

on the pages

and finally allowed me

to see

between the lines,

that which I had always wanted to say

to one as magical as you.

[throughancienteyes]

Days Become Nights

Days,

become nights,

nights,

become days,

do you seek,

her fingertips,

twined in yours?

You have seen too many fairytales

to believe in this one.

We are just birds

strewn across the winds

lost across the worlds

of the great I.

Empty horizons

never finding

each other.

Ah, how tender were the leaves

encicling us

as we shared

that ancient

“so long ago“.

How we cherished

the secrets

with which we weaved

our hearts together.

With how much love

grew the flowers

when you opened

your palm,

for me to give you

the beauty

of this earth.

Are you the soil

from which they grow

or am I the sky

that kisses her

and always looks for her

to grant her

the spring

so they can warm

each other,

in the fruits

of our summer -

a wreath of colors

for a life well lived.

The path winds.

The young become old,

the old young.

Spring turns to autumng

winter to spring

thus destiny weaves

along the stem

of the wise tree.

Am I it,

are you the vine,

that drinks it,

blanketing it

in the tenderness of a colourful life.

Forever we thus twine.

The river becomes ocean,

the ocean - sky,

the sky - snow,

and i always find you

here next to me

on our wild shore.

[throughancienteyes]

Valleys of the Sun

Having passed

through the valleys

of the Sun

and the plains

of the wind

she is always with you.

Give her your fear

and she will give you a voice,

the voice of the future.

Ancestors awaken

with her eyelids.

From the early morn,

to a mythical night,

she will lead us

under a flag weaved

by her sunny locks.

In her name

we will conquer

oblivion

and the memory of her

we will enflame

in the hearts

of our children

so they can honour

and keep the fire of the one,

that loved us

all of us,

our sky,

and our land,

and with love

she united us

in a companionship

stronger than the centuries.

[throughancienteyes]

Gift from the Sun

There, where waves and skies crashed into cliffs immemorial I calmed under the spring rain and looked about in rags, alone.

With a single smile you stole my eyes. In return you gave me a heart and finally i could see.

So i followed the scent of your hair, dancing in the wind, reaching a forgotten home, where in warm waters we merged under a single star,

in the dark a candle melting bodies of wax fallen asleep in each other amidst a breathing night.

***

Slowly I opened my eyes, and you were already there next to the old window filling our dreams with color. Covered only in morning light.

And though the water was now cool your valleys kept a warmth, for the Earth a gift from the Sun, weaving glances, of unending fire.

[throughancienteyes]

Bindings

What a shock will come upon the world the day when humanity finds out that the bindings that hold what we call personality, the human being, the human mind together, are but ephemeral, random, artificial, brittle and surprisingly unnecessary self-made or society-made finite constructions intended to contain what cannot be contained, intended to delude each human and everyone else of the finiteness of what lies within them - infinity, the true self.

[throughancienteyes]

White Wound

hear abysses made of shiny blackness to grow is to wither to wither is to die plucked from the earth blood stops, its everywhere the unexpected point on the journey of ghosts through the forest of memories where the only way not to hurt yourself is to hurt another we, dead souls walking the lands of silence in tombs of smiles the icicles are black crystals of mortality the snow is flame lull me in its white wounds the water - poison in it floating rotting shapes the well of hope dried up drinking this lingering not hanging on to dear, but standing beside a life that used to be me unknowing what i used to be

[throughancienteyes]

Void

empty is the void so clear in which we give life only to kill each other supernovas swallowed in eyes of darkness the heart glows yes, but only till it become embers there is nothing to forget unable to remember lest i regret the choice to stick a knife of pure black ice where a keyhole stood

turn it around the cold will numb the pain sleep among stars a pillow of snowflakes on the white bed of winter never mind the spring most of us die then tired of a long february that never made it to march

be it bear or man, just as the eyes open ready to drink the new sun to dance on carpets of colour, one in the cave is dead the rest leave in silence and soon the body is lead

[throughancienteyes]

hunter hunter

hunter hunter sitting by the fire gorge on my blood cut out my heart that will never tire relish in the flesh that was bestowed you by thy strong hand let it flow warm and crimson between your teeth let it woo you in this winter`s night and when it freezes dry at last a boon! a glove of ruby cast bronze for a hero! then hear my whisper

hunter hunter sitting by the fire look me in the eyes and remember how you forgot to sustain the fire and in the darkness know your screams will be my lyre and your precious meal shall be your funeral pyre

"The riddle of the murder of Christ has remained hidden within a domain entirely removed from the vision and thought of many diligent men and women; and this very fact is a part of the secret. The murder of Christ represents a riddle which harassed human existence at least over the whole period of written history. It is THE problem of the armored human character structure, and not of Christ alone. Christ became a victim of this human character structure because he had developed the qualities and manners of conduct which act upon the armored character structure like red color upon the emotional system of a wild bull. Thus, we may say that Christ presents the principle of Life per se." - Wilhelm Reich, The Murder of Christ