of the series"Cimmerian twilight"
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My fire on the shore was getting low.
The liquid glass was petting sleepy sand.
And bitter wormwood soul, evaporating slow,
In misty darkness swayed above the land.
The broken granite wings are not in motion,
The winding spine is caught by stone grips.
Abandoned land, I see your stark exertion,
Old Mother's form without words on lips.
A child of nights, enticing all to know,
I am your eyes, wide open in the night
To shining ancient stars that orphaned long ago,
Extended calling rays to lone site.
I am your lips, enclosed by stone locking.
I'm tired too in chains of gloomy view.
I'm light of suns extinct, I'm frozen flame of talking,
A mute and wingless dear son of you.
Oh mother-slave! In silence, getting higher,
On bosome of your land I bend my knee...
And bitter wormwood breath, and bitter smoke of fire,
And bitter ocean will remain in me.
M. Voloshin, 1906