Dear readers, I hope you will enjoy this multimedia presentation of my literary work! The video features a recording of my poem, accompanied by picturesque views of Canadian nature and urban life, which I captured throughout my studies in this beautiful country.
The loneliest of hours are the best,
The sweetest moments of my tangled life,
When only those are by the Heaven blessed,
Who never love and never ever fight.
The silence of the night was calming like
The soothing breeze or humming of the flame
But thunderstorm with its desire to strike,
A mighty demon, to the ground came.
I didn’t fear it, nor did I stand still;
As burning poison flowed across my spine,
And then I ran, and ran against my will,
And even lost the precious count of time.
I drifted in the darkness with a smile,
Not that of madness, but of sad delight,
As if my friends returned for a while
To disappear for their final fight.
No pain, no tears, no pity for myself.
I felt the whispering of crystallized sparks,
And flew from them as if I were an elf,
Which was invisible but left flamboyant marks.
Why do night spirits dwell there, in my soul,
Where nothing lives, and feelings make no sound?
Sometimes they rise, at other times they fall,
And howl with pain, when no one is around.
“We hate you, garish, overwhelming sun!
You shine with powerful and blinding grace
Of perfect creature, which to Earth has come
From silent land, entitled now as “space.”
You cannot save a secret from one’s eyes,
You have no charm, no beauty of your own,
You hide inside a miserable vice,
You keep it deep within the scarlet glow!”
The voices of night spirits in my head
Have murmured so with fiery delight
Of beasts, by hatred poisoned and led
Into the meaningless, atrocious fight.
Adoring their passion, like my own,
I felt, indeed – there is no solid truth;
The moon and stars will soon be fully gone,
Then night itself shall have no real use.
Oh, rose-red sunrise, take my somber soul!
Erase it swiftly with your golden wings,
Before the Sacred Light I shall not bow,
For now I fear the tragic thoughts it brings.
My heart, concealed by the mist of tears,
Can’t help, but miss the tender love of night,
Which does not hurt unfeigned fragile feels,
But fondles them with care and holds them tight.