September... Soaring winds (and hulking clouds) Like grey-haired travelers, the storms return To take some rest On these vast plains Before they're moving on. September... A kaleidoscope of days Filled with unanswered and unanswerable questions, With every coming day they're numbered on, and Far beyond all comprehension. September! Prophecies unheeded go - But why and how have we gone that far? And what resentment is growing now, Spreadin’ out its vines within our hearts? What shall I do when they are coming here? - The monsters from the fairy tales we used to scare Our children with - become too real And self-styled slaves decry the freedom as a myth And self-styled martyrs worship Anguish, Woe and Fear; As hypocrites keep juggling truths and lies There comes the voice out from nowhere, which cries: Is this September of our time? Is it the twilight of our history? Will we be able to keep the daemons from breaking free? I've never thought I'd ever live to see How that putrid undercurrent permeates us all, Transforming human-beings into the craving beasts, And I cannot be sure I'm not among their lot. September... Soaring winds (and hulking clouds) And cooler air and colder rains throughout. And where one man holds back his thrashing wrath The crowd will reap the crops that they had sowed. Still, when the tribulations are on low tide With waning hope I look up to the skies - and dream That with the stormclouds God returns To mend our wounds and to redeem our wrongs. And though the Heaven's silent still, I feel someone's there, and He is taking heed He is taking heed...

Two days per year - here I go again, Same place, same time, or is it a delusion? This city is the same where'er you go, And even Vergil would have lost his way - And yielded to despair and confusion The rust-stained cubes and boxes everywhere They're climbing up each other 'til exhaustion; The biggest ones – against the common sense - Rest on the tops of these monstrosities, The eerie beehives that no humans would have built So arrogant and stalwart yet submissive to corrosion Behold the city of the former slaves, Delivered from their ageless subjugation, Yet driven here to a nameless crater valley These ghastly towers to raise, To chain the bridges, build the twisty streets, In order to contain themselves within this labyrinth, The huge, unwieldy, rusty ironclad Has run ashore in time... but this disaster Has turned the former slaves into their own masters. Six years ago I sought a shelter here It was September twenty first, no matter year. On sunset, with my own shadow as the guide I've crossed the border of this wicked maze - To look for exit vainly ever since And on every Spring and Autumn Equinox, I'll search on sunset for that westward street By which I've entered here. But every time The fleeting sunray slips across the walls To fade away - and then I have to wait For many months again, without much hope To leave this place one day... Behold the city of the former slaves, Delivered from their ageless subjugation, Yet driven here to a nameless crater valley These ghastly towers to raise To chain the bridges, build the twisty streets, In order to contain themselves within this labyrinth, The huge, unwieldy, rusty ironclad Has run ashore in time... but this disaster Has sealed the former slaves to be their own masters. And now I almost look and smell like them - The denizens of this obscured city Now there is less suspicion in their withered eyes When I am passing by; time takes its toll. The only difference is my remaining memories - The natives do not know what lies beyond these walls.

However aimless may my ramblings be It seems as if I always make a turn or two To find me standing in this square eventually: No matter how many times I come This place is always full of wicked dread to me The lifeless no man's land enshrouded in gloom, The pavements of uneven prism-like slabs And in the middle of the square there is A high stepped dais whereupon th' immense Bronze gate detached from any wall Is towering irradiating dreariness Two people wander here to and fro, With their arms drawn Long chains are running from the gate To their belts, although These sentries came here on their own And would not go Their living breath is consecrating this grim place Forevermore And though one easily can walk around this Gate The sentries still believe they're th' only ones Who stand between the realm of men And the tremendous distress lurking out there - Behind the heavy decorated leaves. And their restless and exhausting vigilance Prevents these horrors from emerging... Or perhaps It is a ransom to some twisted myths, So they remain delusions those they are, However slithering their way to sentries' hearts To feed and revel on their soulblood... Two people wander here to and fro, With their arms drawn, Enchained for years to the gate, Yet there's a stronger bond: These sentries came here on their own And would not go Their living breath is consecrating this grim place Forevermore And if the Gate is opened one day, With that Abyss a-swirl before their eyes They'll gaze into it, knowing all too well, That the Abyss is gazing back into themselves.

The eerie glow reflected from the clouds Illumined vaguely rounded shoulders, shaven heads, The gloomy, dismal, silent crowd Has sparsely spread across the round square. Upon the planked stage there stood a cell, A cowered man within, which paid no heed To a mutt'ring figure in a black robe next to him, That read aloud some written gibberish 'Another innocent in judicat'ry gnaw', I’ve heard; 'Who cares', another voice said, 'He’s condemned, And so he'd been before this masquerade Had even started, don't you understand?' A thin bald woman paced among this lot, The others seemed to take no notice of her presence Yet when some hag collapsed and started choking, That woman had approached her, offered help - The old hag had refused that offer, though, And overcoming her enduring seizures Stood up and limp'd away from sight. — And then the crowd, it seemed, stopped breathing. I hear how one of judges yells out loud: 'There is a certain order of the things In our world, we are to follow, willfully or not', And like a gust of wind, the 'guilty' word resounds. ...As judges left, the crowd dispersed in silence, The lame cart carried the cell away, Only a bald thin woman stood before me And looked into my eye expectantly. 'Time's running here in circles', I have said Without really understanding why. She nodded and then pointed over yonder - Towards the stage. I turned to look, and saw A small group of young people dressed identic’lly. It took me time to realize at last That they were celebrating what has happened here, Exulting o'er that blatant outrage. I knew they yelled, but I couldn't hear their voices, They had self-righteous looks, but their eyes were blank, They looked unnatural as wraiths, abominable spectres... Assuming it was I the living one.

The last day matching night in length recedes, And like a mad usurper twilight falls so hard And hastily... With every step, it seems, The dark grows denser. Even though the street I trudge along is slithering uphill, It feels like a descent into the depth, Where every sound gets guttered down the walls, And every light's a ghostly echo of itself. Soon nothing's left, but pitch-black silhouettes, With rare a yellow blind eye glitt'ring through the dark, Sporadic gleams of damp stones 'neath my feet And steel-cold skies so eerily un-coloured. There is a legend 'round here, that every night All the unlit roads violently unbraid To re-entwine anew - at random - at the dawn Thus driving nightmares off our daytime trails... I am about to believe that myth tonight, It is the first time in so many years, That I have no idea where am I And where should I go from here Then suddenly the dazzling light explodes I see gargatuan statues standing 'long the road With flaming cressets in their hands And staring down with disdain at me As though there is a den of maggots 'neath their feet Their eyes - they seemed so chillingly alive - Were tracking my dismay with unrelenting wrath and loathing The luminaries of this God-forsaken place, The sculptures of the majesty itself forsooth: The harbingers of our final destiny The sovereigns of truth Then to the hiss and splutter of the torches New sounds admix'd: incoming from afar Were thumping drums along with muffled tramp - A band of hooded figures hither marched. I heard a quiet, monotonous chanting That seemed to flood the stagnant air around me, I had to move aside or else they surely Would tread me down... As if I couldn't be seen. Yet as they passed me by, the rear man had turned His head around, and separated from the rest. Approached me and tried to punch my face, with hisses ‘bout my foul blasphemy that "they" would not forget - "The luminaries of this timeless city, The sculptures of the majesty itself forsooth: The harbingers of our eventual destiny The sovereigns of our truth". My faceless enemy continued his assaults, And finally, as he produced a knife, I knocked him down and darted off at once, And ran until around me it was again all darkness ... "The luminaries of this timeless city, The sculptures of the majesty itself forsooth: The harbingers of our damnation The sovereigns of truth".

Weak damp wind cools down burning skin on my face The darkness around me is so thick that I can't see a thing Where am I now? No matter, for still I'm confined In this maze, and no light's here to guide me away In my memories then an asylum I seek And they're merciful, coming to me when I Need them the most, like a chilled through wayfarer Remembers his hearth and this gives him the strength to go on I recall lucid walls of blizzards afar Overshadowing the grim rocky cliffs they pass by And the windy trailways near the mountain pass I could tread blindfolded... But I can't find a way back. Futile are the laments of a wayward son now. Never the time will turn back And even if a miracle happens - one day I return, What if I see only ruins and burnt stains and graves For I had departed as the gathering firestorm Was already too close rolling our way... ...Now my eyes have get used to the darkness around, But there's little to see in the bible-black sky... I am chilled to the bone, but a voice in my head Says 'It's not over yet', so I have to go on. What was the wicked charm of wilderness That had driven me away from where I belonged That had brought me into the valleys of bitterness? Why have I chosen to yield to their call? Yet again I am dreaming of snowfalls afar And the swift shades of clouds running over the hills Far below, and the Uranian sea speckled with white jewels, And hymns of the wind echoes in the ravines. And if Heavenly Sovereign is still there to hear me I pray that the Great Beyond looks just the same. Looks just the same...

Like fireworks in reverse, The torchlights in the distance Were gathering in haste Upon the city's largest bridge The crowd had cornered a girl In a torn dirt-stained dress; she had a look Of a totally run down doe As the others were snarling and barking at her When I had approached at last From the mutt'ring of those who were standing behind, From the hateful screams and shouts A mind-bending story I'd finally learnt A brazen thief had broken in her house And saw her dancing in an inner room. But on the night of Autumn Equinox, The Festival of Grief begins, when dancing Is a sacrilege. So a thief had pulled her out And made her run Now she is standing at the bridge Surrounded by the bloodthirsty drooling mob cryin’ for A sacrifice. All of sudden the shouts have ceased Only the wind and a quiet drum thumping Could be heard as the crowd fell back Givin' way to a tall hooded figure in black. He had slowly approached the girl And asked her of something. The answer she'd given Had drowned as the roaring resumed, - And then died out at once as the priest started speaking He delivered a pompous speech, A sermon-like rant on the order of things Then he turned to the girl and said: 'You will not make them think they have slaughtered you, will you?' The girl has nodded slightly and unbent And for a moment she stood tall and still Before the hateful mob She looked then at the priest - he nodded too. And then before I managed to push through She climbed the parapet, and looked about Then silently stepped down into the chasm. And with malignant cheers the crowd burst out.

I've barely pulled her out of the water Upon the slippery stones of a quay Near the bridge. All attempts to revive her Have failed. Just betrothed to Grim Reaper, She has given in. And it seemed That the mob's screams still echoed around In the tingling damp quiet, otherwise undisturbed. In teeth-gnashing fury I tried to revive her To wrest her back from that cattle... But no: Whatever I tried could help her no more. 'She is dead, don't you see?' Someone's voice Got me startled. I've upsprung, drew the knife... But a man with a lamp, who approached so silently, Meant me no harm. He just came to the body and Lit her pale face, letting out a sigh: 'I knew this poor lass, she was one of us...' - 'Who?' I have asked in confusion. 'Come with me, I will show you', he said, and before I could do anything, pushed the docile body Back into the dark water saying just 'Let her go.' 'Is this all,' I resented, ‘that she is worth of?' 'Let the dead bury their dead', he calmly responded, 'Her spirit still lives on, and now it is free, While ours are not'. 'I don't know about yours', I said, 'Mine is intact. No one has purloined it, And nobody will'. Then the man brought his lamp Close to my face and said: ‘Yes, you must be The one, we've been seeking for quite a long time. Come with me, and you'll meet people like you." At this moment A strange sound arrived from the top of the bridge. 'We must move on,' the man said. 'Or we are in trouble, Try to make little noise and don't lag behind'...

The road we took was long and twisted on its own: Through the unlit back-alleys, where the greasy stones Reluctantly would start to shimmer as the light From my guide's dim lamp touched them with aversion. Through sudden narrow breaches in the walls, Exposing oozing bowels of the unkempt abodes, With squelchy corridors, doors boarded up, And then outdoors again, decrepit, lifeless. Within this backside of the city's very bottom, Where aeons calcify and even death may die, The dark was parting - like some heavy velvet drapes - Before a ghostly glimmer of an oil lamp. ...Then our descent began. The flights of stone stairs - Straight, steady, almost uneroded - slowly gave place To rusty staircases; their uneven spirals Were getting narrower the further we moved down. Eventually we had reached the bottom, And through a heavy squeaky door we'd entered Into a shaft of an enormous size. "Look up", My guide said then, for me to freeze in awe: Lit dimly from above, tremendous gears and spindles Were hanging at a height. They seemed so vast, That even thinking of their purpose made me shiver. "We're almost there", said my guide, "let’s move on fast".

They sat on the besmeared mats, As dirt-stained as their own ragged clothes Did I expect them to be diff'rent from the rest Of citizens? I don't know, anyway - Their eyes looked only slightly more alive, A little bit more prying, otherwise Still wan. They asked me if the world outside Looked totally the same as their city, Which I denied, although I had to say That everywhere I'd been I'd seen turmoil - Forsaken cities crumbling to the sands and glacial cinders, And graveyards reuniting the horizons, Nomadic martyrs, anguished ones and cripples, Who wandered 'neath the steel-grey skies, Only to find their short unsteady shelter Within the worn out walls of various temples, Where they were worshipping their woes and grievances... But if I had a choice - to stay, or walk away - I'd rather roam again through woods, and hills and valleys In search for Hope, of which this place's devoid. Still I can't find my way outside. 'And no one can', The man who brought me here readily replied. 'The city's built so. That tremendous mechanism Which we'd passed by, has many purposes, it is The thing that literally makes the city move - It rearranges the most outward quarters every night'. 'You say, the legend of the re-entwining streets...?' '...Is not a myth. The outward blocks are just A sham. Nobody lives there. And nobody ever leaves. I've studied that Machina Urbi and I know How to make it going into overdrive, by which This whole city will be crumbling down'. 'But why?!' I asked? 'Why don't you simply stop it, set us free?' And then I've heard the grumble of discontent From those who have assembled here. 'My friend, My former guide said bitterly, 'You've seen The foul atrocities those are committed here. What you have never seen, I guess, is thousands swords, Stored in their armouries and waiting to be used; Black banners with the golden eight-point stars Are garnered there to mount up like the flames, And if this dreary horde of snarling ghouls Will be unleashed unto the outer world, there'll be No place to hide. Whoe'er comes close to them, Will change forever, just too few can be immune To their venom. And the rest will be converted, In next to no time. So there must be no gate To open. We shall make this all collapse: The foul malady that they are will be buried!' I saw the speaker's eyes already were ablaze With zealotry... Is this the end for me as well? I asked: 'What do you want from me at all'? And they responded that I had confirmed Their sacrifice would not be totally in vain, And they are grateful. Still the road ends For me right here, they cannot let me go And give them all away. And silently I watched How they approached. But then a loud noise Sparked panic and stampede, but out of nowhere Armed faceless men invaded with short swords And blackjacks...

They tossed me with a cloth bag on my head Along the endless corridors for hours, Until I fin'lly felt no strength to struggle Or even stand and walk. They dragged me on - Into some bright, resounding hall, where stagnant lights Had almost blinded me when they removed the bag: I stood kneeled down with my hands tied behind. The mirror floors were showing well My dreary wretchedness. And I was not alone Who had been watching. 'Now you are here', A weird voice rang nearby. 'You've roamed throughout The depth and lows, but finally your searching Is over as you've reached the very top.' 'As if I really did it on my own', I said, And looked up... Gods, I'd rather never done! A figure in a decorated robe stood by; It had a frail, as though unfleshly, build, And an inhuman stature, almost twice as tall. A wicked double mask was hiding this one's face, And when he spoke, it seemed he had two voices. 'Still you have come, to stand down on your knees. Nobody comes here but by their own will, Even if latent, unacknowledged aspiration, But those who truly don't belong here, won't be here. It is the pinnacle of everything your race Is able to achieve. The pure manifestation Of what you are, without husks and filth, The mainstay of truth, where all the roads lead Eventually. That's where the heresies Those have already mostly taken over The outer world, are losing their potence. That's where the avalanche of purifying fire Will soon originate. And when the time is right Our banners will unroll, our arms will yearn for blood We'll bring them back the long-forgotten fear of God'. 'That you don't have yourself, apparently', I said. The creature laughed: 'Who is that one I am to fear, you say? Do you believe an old man in a golden crown Sits on the clouds and angrily looks down? While sleazy typists with their o’ergrown pigeon wings Stand by his side and log all mortals' sins? If ever there has been that Radiant Throne, At present it is occupied by none. As of his temples lingering on Earth We'll put them to good use - to monger fears and swords. And trust me, you would never need a God His ruthless, vengeful ire to promote. It's down to a proper choice of scary words! ...And cities will be crumbling to the cinders, And graveyards will be reuniting the horizons!' 'You're late' I said. 'Somebody has outrun you, The armies striving to reverse the time, are out now To massacre, and flames and smokes are rising From the realms that you've been dreaming to war down'. 'You're lying', hissed the figure. 'No, I don’t’. The creature ceased to move at all, as though The ghost that had possessed it just withdrew. I had to wait and slowly moments crawled, Then all of sudden it resumed to live and said: 'You didn't lie indeed. Someone was first, Although whoever it was they’d failed with their uprising. For me that means a lot of labour is ahead, A lot of soil to till, a lot of seeds to spread. For starters I will let you go. I will unleash You on the outer world, my future prophet, And though for the remainder of your life You will be cursing and denouncing me, my word Will be delivered to the right ones - those who wait For someone to relieve them from their burdens Of the detested 'free will' and 'benevolence': The beasts remain the beasts, the slaves remain the slaves, They're waiting for a proper sign to conquer them, With blood and fire, a privilege to obey, Or, if they lose, to set the world ablaze. Begone now', said the creature, as the hall Began to swirl and twist around me rapidly; And I had fallen through the mirror floor, And plummeted into the pitch-black void Until the last of me had silently dissolved...

At first it was all darkness then the pain arrived And only then the other feelings came to be I lied face-down on the cobble stones Unable to move with all my limbs gone numb Somebody touched my shoulder, and I turned to look. And saw her right away: crouched by my side, Was that familiar thin woman with a hairless head, Who looked at me in sympathetic expectation, And in her eye there wasn't any threat. 'I know who you are', I think I've said, 'You've come to take me, right?' she shook her head, Then helped me to stand up. I looked around - The bridge again. Where would I go from here? Ahead, behind - the barrage of the towers, That seems to dam the future horrors - for a while... But what if I am their herald now indeed, If ever I can find my way out of this city? Perhaps, I'd better not... Perhaps I stay within... ...She touched my shoulder once again. I turned around And saw her smiling. Slowly she has raised Her arm to sky and opened up her palm. As if obeying her, the clouds parted, to reveal A dazzling river of the stars, crossed by A comet. 'Do you think', I guess I've heard, 'The Wanderer that wades the Milky Way, Can ripple it? No, it will remain undisturbed. The comets pass, the stars are always there'. Was my companion really saying that? I don't think she had open up her lips The questions swarmed inside my head, unable To break outside. I wanted her to tell me, What must I do, but knew she wouldn't say. Unyielding... I must be unyielding, to prevail, To find the way out and to leave behind This city's taint that has my soul begrimed. On Equinox the The Bridge of Stars' goes straight from North to South I only hope tonight it will be able to lead me out.

The amber smell Of the sun-burnt grass, So much open skies And no memory, A soaring cliff Where fledglings learn to fly, Sunset embers glow bright Above the grasslands sea. Years of trudging through the labyrinths Of misleading roads, wrong turns, futile restarts To finally see - the only guide to trust Is a silvery trail that splits night skies apart. The hour’s approaching: Tears come to my eyes, As the burden I've had Is no more mine. And my spirit slowly Spread its wings And bestow itself upon The blazing Aetherwind...

Кто пережил тот год, Тот, вероятно, вспомнит, как Кометы бледный глаз Блестел в рассветной мгле. Могущие цари, Забыв о состраданье, Нас подняли тогда Друг с другом воевать. Им каждому был сон О власти над Вселенной, - Как кто-то бледноокий Её им даровал. Из северных земель Чума пришла внезапно. Богатый урожай Смерть собрала в тот год. Но даже умирая, Слабевшими руками, Мы тщились разорвать Друг друга на куски. Великие дожди Поили землю сорок дней, Смывая прах и тлен, Прочь прогоняя смерть. Кто пережил тот год, Тот и комету вспомнит... Она всему виною ли? Не ведает никто... _______________ That dreadful year was marked With a comet's revelation For long the pale eye Watched every dusk and dawn And several mighty kings With not a shred of mercy For their unhappy men Their armies raised to war For each one had a dream About the universal power And how someone pale-eyed Granted it to them Meanwhile from the North Plague appeared crawling Death had a wealthy crop Reaped all around our realm But even dying men With their arms growing weaker Were tryin' to tear apart Their foes, no matter what And then colossal rains Fell for over forty days And washed the blood and ash, Driving the death away Whoever had survived, They would recall the comet. But if it caused those evils - No one would ever know.