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Such will be darkness swearing an oath
to keep you safe between two poles of life:
the Heaven's one and Earth's, you've got for strive...
But what is then disturbing you within?
'Tis not the love, nor hate, nor hidden sin:
'tis thirst for life, the hopeless trodden shoot -
blessing of that unconscious child's foot:
not to be broken; see this child's slain
Which spread his arms for crucifying pain;
See their cries and hands in age-old blood -
And bless them all, as we are blessed by God.
He rose his hand to bless them... then he tarried,
Turned back and saw the past linked with the future,
Then looked at them again half-smirking, pondering
And choosing what to do - just to ascend
Up in the sky or wend his way to waters.
He chose the last thing, rose and slowly went
diminishing in sight of those twelve men...
The story goes, nobody saw him after
that noon. Some say, he was seen on the bank:
They say, he sat close to the plashing waters
asking 'What for?..', then took off dirty sandals
And strode along the waters - farther still
Than anyone could reckon... So the bloom
In that gray Orchard waited not for his
Hot prayers, and his tears, and bloody sweat...
Call Of Duty
They cry, 'Bring my son home!' Well, he's been brought.
Be proud of your boy - this flesh you've got.
Death's not an obstacle for heroes' will:
nor bullet could them pin, nor ladies' heel.
Had heard the order, felt the rush and stir,
they would have left their coffins saying, 'Yes, sir!'
A Farewell To London
You are quietly standing at the bank of that river,
alone; it's cold though it's warm within.
And it's only gentle wind and your hand's quiver
That make this evening tremble (signs unseen).
Here, in the dark, your hand slips into the pocket
While the wind rushes aside, as if misled,
or covers up its tracks - the gesture not to mock at:
The same idea attracts you and you shake your head...
Days as they went, now gone and vanished,
And there is no great matter old dreams to hold,
To fix them in your brain or make them perish...
But now 'tis all given back to you, threefold.
These misty memories... Your home is drowning
Deep in these waters, lights up your way and dims.
Smooth surface crumbles your twin, the sky is frowning
And slightly doubts it all, just all those scenes.
You're coming back, and hide your face, and smile
Although a man in the street could see your eyes -
And push you back into the same exile,
Would that be only a reasonable price.
I met an old man in the dark wet street.
Why did he think he was a man to greet?
He rushed to me, 'I see thy eyes, thee Cain!' -
He meant not me though he looked into mine.
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