Mara, appear, Yav’s image,
Yav’s image, from Nav’, truly.
May it be in Yav’ – Nav’s face,
Yav’s face for the Kin’s Head,
Lead the people down the pathways,
On the paths to the doors – gates – entrance.
Let Thy word return the men into Yav’,
Henceforth in Yav’ the men will be.
So, at present, that’s my saying.

Be that way!

Storm! In the nighttime cradle
You broke into my phantasmal temple
Wounding with a vermeil levin, call me into the deep!
I feel your breath through an enchanting windflaw,
Before the eclipse of the Bad Moon,
I’m merging with you into a single whole!

The whip of wind!
I am dazed with my craving for embrace
And it makes me feel
The tempest of eternal happiness.
Having stood in front of you, I give my soul to you forever!
Storm! Take me away with you, take me to nowhere!

With their own eyes your thunderstorms stare
Deep down, into my being,
Over again in the embrace of air
Into your depths I fling!

The dark-milky sky’s runic shapes
Shower us with the rings of stars,
The Earth’s Shadow on the Moon’s Face
Will marry us.

Light, fading away,
Throws us again into Yav’ with a whirl.
I am back being blasé,
Having taken off a dream shawl.
With the storm in my arms – only dreaming,
Gently playing with my own doom,
Dancing with your whirlwind I was spinning
In the circle enshrouded with gloom.

On a whim I will rush in
To the deep ocean abyss.
My destiny’s song is over
With the hurricane’s kiss.

Storm!
Storm, take me away!

Kissing the life,
Drowning in the wind arms,
The blind sees no void
Of the light abyss charm.

In the scattering dreams
Drowning in the beast’s jaws
Path is uncertain –
To the deathly still dark outside a closed door.
Souls’ silhouettes just crawl through the desert,
The old maid’ll touch the lips with her kiss of cold.

Flying into the bottomless sky,
Going down in the dance of the last sleep profound,
Freezing over, apart with solid ground,
Being betrothed with the dark bride of nightfall,
Burying her in a pitch-black shawl.

‘midst the wandering souls
You will know your own self,
Pushing away from the ground,
‘scape, fly to the void in your waking hours
‘midst the lights of ice-cold
Into the death arms to fall!

Dancing on the bones
In the masked ball mess,
The existence guise
Is held as one by Life and Death
In their locked arms.

A grey-haired shaman
Draws the path of newborn souls
With a piece of forever-dead bones.
The reaper never sleeps
Reaping rye to be cut,
In a circle, which is sickle-drawn.

Light and dark will wipe the chapter,
When the oblivion priest opens his hall,
The Worlds’ guard, the grey-haired creator
Will spread the hand at the crossroad.

Aeons favour with death –
Rebirth through a whirlwind with a new breath,
The hurting grief is our unrestrained dread,
‘cos a hangman doesn’t mourn o’er the dead.

Coal-black dress, snow-white garment
Swirl from year to year,
When two sisters, obeying their delectation,
Lead an old round dance here.
Aeons make the universe sisters related,
Their voice, wounding our souls,
As a laughter, haughtily inflated,
Will pierce us and never condole.

The fair Sun is a white dress, the face of the Moon is a black one,
The sky with the earth above their heads,
Are united with the circle as a crown,
Keeping balance above the universe.
In the home world for many of us,
Hand in hand, the universe sisters
‘re spinning round in their ritual dance.

Mara, seducing a body in the man’s last breath,
Exposes herself in front of the victim, capturing him with her womb.
It’s the great essence: waiting for the deathbed,
You hear cry of a newborn soul
In your subconscious mind,
‘cos the birth is the death, and the death is the birth
In the vanity’s fuss, in the eternal whirlpool of time.

Behind life and death masks – the temptation.
Sacred Circle Rotation.
A deafening echo
Sounds the sisters’ laugh
In the life constant flow
Changing a cradle to an epitaph.

A fidgety stare
Illumes the fields to cut,
Eager to take root from the seed
‘till the soil loses its heat.
Time to reap anywhere,
Death scythes give no feed,
The graveyards are hungry
Anticipating their hearty feast.

Light and dark will merge once again,
When the oblivion priest fulfills his pledge.
The worlds’ guard, the grey-haired creator
Spinning his gold thread along the road edge,
Only taking the time range.

Taking the time

Kissing the life,
Dancing, freezing in the last sleep profound,
Going down to the dark ground,
Burying her in a white shawl
‘midst the lights of ice-cold,
You pushed away from the ground,
Kissing the life with the lips of death toll.

You kiss the life with the death lips.
Kissing the life…

Coal-black dress, snow-white garment
Swirl from year to year,
When two sisters, obeying their delectation,
Lead an old round dance here.
Aeons make the universe sisters related,
Their voice, wounding our souls,
As a laughter, haughtily inflated,
Will pierce us and never condole.

The fair Sun is a white dress, the face of the Moon is a black one,
The sky with the earth above their heads,
Are united with the circle as a crown,
Keeping balance above the universe.
In the home world for many of us,
Hand in hand, the universe sisters
‘re spinning round in their ritual dance.

The pain as an angry beast creeps into my soul
Breaking the fallen temple of my flesh,
Having torn apart, it will follow the footsteps
Taking my life.
A blood trail, like the last thread of this life,
Leaving behind.

I am a child without a name,
Hundreds of nights I lived,
My hands are tormented with wounds,
My wounds are spiked with needles.

I am a child without a name,
My soul is constrained with chains,
Grasping for breath, it’ll shudder –
Buried alive in the grave.

Sky! Star dust!
Hear me!
The Sun! My body!
Warm me!
The wind is my wings!
Take me!
Mara! My mother!

Like a blind one in the dusk I desperately roam,
Plunging headlong In Nav’ in near-death silence.
Makosh stitches the blood signs of the bottomless soul
Embroidering the fate on the skin touched with violence.

Looking into the eyes of my fate,
With a sombre band, having girded the ways,
With poisonous quicksilver I’m drunk
To fall into the shroud’s embrace.

I am a child without a name
I am a child without a name
Come closer to me, fold in your arms,
Take me retracing your steps,
My gray-haired girlfriend named Death.

Sky! Star dust!
Hear me!
The Sun! My body!
Warm me!
The wind is my wings!
Take me!
Mara! My mother!

I am a child without a name.

… And the Sun ’ll rise above the Temple in the World-Bearer’s hands
As a sign of the times for the Universe’s chapter to herald,
Having changed the chaos creation’s new era turn
In the inner space depths of the war – eternal and feral.

The Original Temple’s chaotic mess hides
As the World’s darkness creation –
A black and white essence, cutting the walls from outside,
Draws with blood its lacerations.

Draws with blood its lacerations.

A flock with a flock,
Essence of dark,
Crows of doom
Fly to a feast,
Feeling the strong scent of fresh blood,
Bleeding from the Monolith’s wounds.
Its skin is clean, its bones are cold.
The chaos captured its womb
Of the black and white war –
An everlasting warfare!

This is my Temple!

It doesn’t’ stay still
In the war‘s womb –
The endless balance wheel,
Chaos’ birth as swirls
Is the essence of the Universe.

Through the pain of a cold base
Sinking the teeth of a hungry beast into the walls,
In the whirlwinds’ embrace, in the womb of the ones born by the war,
The dirt leaked into the Being essence’s outer Hall –
Chaos!

I feel this carrion stench of the crows moving to and fro everywhere!
I see myself through the wounds’ faces under the gaze of their flocks,
Their croaking pierces my guts under their overwhelming stare
Like a barking pack of voracious dogs.

The dead Sun’s house is filled with their cry,
The Earth waits to die!
I rot in the chaos’ womb,
I agonize to turn to their carrion.

My Temple is the abode of the soul,
My Temple is the time’s ageless home,
My Temple is built inside of me,
Desperately hungry for rebirth of its own.
My Temple is my core of times,
My Temple is the universe’s soul,
My Temple is under the eyes of crows,
Under the vanities’ wimple – hidden by the gods.

The chaos that came from outside,
Reborn into the darkness of the winds and flows,
Will merge as foulness in filth for the fight
In the eternal embrace of the strangling crows.

My Temple is a throne of Two-Face,
My Temple is burden-bent,
My Temple is in the ages’ embrace,
The battle of two worldview hands.
My Temple is the centuries’ cores,
My Temple is the voice of compassion,
My Temple is under the eyes of crows,
Chaos from outside that generates the creation.

My temple…

… And the Sun’ll rise above the Temple in the World-Bearer’s hands…
And the Sun ’ll rise above the Temple in the World-Bearer’s hands,
Turning the recurrence of times to a newborn circle,
It’ll turn around with sequence of changes over the bustling flesh,
Creating the womb’s harmony, letting the whirlwinds to fade in the sand.

The day doesn’t last forever, as well as the night –
Only the recurrence is an essence without end,
The darkness follows the traces of light,
As the light follows on the dark trail.
Another sunset, the seed is in the womb-land
Of new filth’s spring,
It will become a herald of the newborn whirls
Of the eternal warfare’s bell ring.

But the Sun will rise…

Like with the invisible power and violent light
A noose is tightly fastened around the neck,
The beacon beam beckons me, a lone wight,
As an unbound pilgrim at someone’s beck.

I can feel the ground trembling,
Rushing into the dreams whirl without control,
I follow that beacon light’s ramble,
Being absorbed, at once, by the dark hole.

Closer, closer to the spectral light –
We are running for cover in a hardly visible shape,
We are dream catchers under our oblivion guise,
Experienced ones,
In pursuit of the white shade.

… the shadow that will never be shone.

How dark that valley is, its waters are so sombre!
Lured with false light, intoxicated with henbane,
We’re drifting on the way to the lighthouse halfway ‘round the world –
Still staying here doomed and waned!

Closer, closer to the spectral light –
We are running for cover in a hardly visible shape,
We are dream catchers under our oblivion guise,
Experienced ones,
In pursuit of the white shade.

I will deny this somebody else’s forgotten world,
Retiring to the centuries’ light-hearted waste ground.
Doomed and forgotten, I’m flying,
Being in the palms of the Gods’ hands to drown.

Spreading my hands,
Having reached for the sky
To my silence’s ancestral home,
Having placed my palms on the star dust,
I’m flying to nowhere,
Spreading my wings in a white cloud
To the clouds’ palace, to the top of the mount’!

The celestial promised vault is vast!
Entwining me with a turquoise blue border,
Iridescent light cruelly calls into the dwelling place.
Screaming to nowhere,
I fold the firmament in my arms.

Freedom of dreams,
Temptation
Of the sunk ones in a white shroud,
Of the white desert ground.
Here my abode was conceived,
Without any chains’ bustle,
My Temple, here, keeping the soul,
Gathers the age legend threads untold.

The silence’s home
Bears the bliss for my soul.
I walk on the hills’ brink
With no fear of heights
In the Moon’s languid light,
In the euphoric high’s hopeless chains,
My thoughts are full of oblivion
In the palms of the Gods’ hands.

In the dark, in the darkest deeps,
In the vast taiga one can’t leap,
An age-old tree here grows.
Under the tree, under this old and tired tree,
A she-wolf sleeps tight – she doesn’t howl.
The she-wolf had a pack to lead,
The pack queen, she was the main
To reign over the land of cold,
But her bones became old,
And the fierce death is eager to feast
Is in a hurry to visit the beast,
But the she-wolf is old, cold and fatigued
She only sleeps, and she does not sing,
But sees how her sons live and breathe.

Mara, appear, Yav’s image,
Yav’s image, from Nav’, truly.
May it be in Yav’ – Nav’s face,
Yav’s face for the Kin’s Head,
Lead the people down the pathways,
On the paths to the doors – gates – entrance.
Let Thy word return the men into Yav’,
Henceforth in Yav’ the men will be.
So, at present, that’s my saying.

Be that way!