Исповедь обманутого короля Confession of a Deceive

Confession of a Deceived King   (Translation into English is provided below)
 
(Отрывок из романа «Гуру и его птица».
Книга находится в процессе написания.)               

* * *

Отец мой
я вам доверю беду испрошу совета
И тут же повесить велю
чтоб тайну не выдал ты свету
Однажды
моя королева гуляла по царскому саду и
О Пресвятая Дева
В служке нашла отраду
Она...вы её видали
и не сказать чтоб прелестна
но вы ведь конечно знали  её мы взяли
не из беднейшего королевства
Хоть ум её Нам по вкусу уж лучше-б она молчала
Страшны всем её укусы словестно-змеинного жала
Так вот
она Нам сказала - Садовник мне краше короны
Не я мой король упала а ВЫ до него не поднялись
Отец мой - какое жало
Как быть
ведь её королевство Нам свой доход отдавало
И как же наследник - Не смею поверить
растёт а быть может не мой
Садовника... не допросить
что толку коль жив был да был немой
Что же Нам делать Отец мой скажите
И ваше тело лежать будет в златом гробу
Наглец -  Вы что слушая спите
Эй слуги не медля его разбудите
...
Куда там...
духовник пошёл передать
высокую исповедь Богу
   
     ***      Питерка
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Мой личный отклик — от сердца


Это стихотворение пугает не жестокостью,
а логикой власти, в которой смерть — побочный эффект сохранения лица.

Король не обманут королевой.
Он обманут самим собой —
верой, что любовь можно измерить доходом,
а истину — заставить замолчать.

Самый чистый здесь — тот, кто не сказал ни слова.
И потому остался прав.               
                07.02.2026  ГУРУ.И

.................

(Excerpt from the novel *Guru.I and His Bird.*
The book is currently in the process of being written.)


Confession of a Deceived King
By Piterka Badmaeva Olga
Translation by Guru.I
      * * *

Father,
I entrust you with my sorrow,
I seek your wisdom and decree.
And yet—
I order you hanged tomorrow,
Lest the world hear this from thee.

Once,
My queen walked the royal garden,
And—O Blessed Virgin bright!—
In a mere servant, she found her solace,
And reveled in his touch that night.

You have seen her,
Not quite fair, nor soft nor mild—
But well you knew,
She was no peasant’s child.

Her mind, we found to be of use—
Yet silence would have served her better.
Her tongue—
a viper’s noose,
A lash of poisoned letter.

And so she spoke:
"A crown is worth no glance from me,
For this gardener’s gaze is my throne."
"I did not fall, my king, you see—
It is you who never rose!"

O Father—
What venom is this?
How shall I act, what must I do?
Her kingdom yields its gold to us,
And the heir…
Dare I believe—
Does he belong to me at all?

The gardener—
No use to pry,
For mute he lived,
And mute he died.

So tell me, Father—
What must be done?
And rest assured, your grave shall gleam—
A gilded tomb in golden beams.

…What’s this?
You slumber as I speak?
Awaken him at once, you fools!
No breath—
He’s gone, the wretched weak!

So let his soul now whisper loud,
And take my truth to God.

       * * *
............................


Confession of the Deceived King

My Father,
I entrust you with my misfortune and ask for counsel.
And at once I order you to be hanged,
so that you do not reveal the secret to the light.

Once,
my queen was walking in the royal garden and—
O Most Holy Virgin—
she found solace in a servant.

She… you have seen her.
One could hardly call her lovely,
but you surely knew — we took her
not from the poorest kingdom.

Though her mind pleased Us, it would be better had she kept silent.
Fearful are her bites — the sting of a verbal serpent.

So,
she said to Us: “The gardener is dearer to me than the crown.
It was not I, my king, who fell —
it was YOU who did not rise to him.”

My Father — what a sting.
What is to be done,
for her kingdom yielded its revenue to Us?

And what of the heir — I dare not believe:
he grows, and perhaps is not mine.

The gardener… cannot be questioned.
What use, if he lived — yet was mute?

What then are We to do, my Father, tell me,
and your body shall lie in a golden coffin.

Insolent man — are you sleeping as you listen?
Hey, servants, wake him at once…

As if…
the confessor went to deliver
the lofty confession to God.

     * * *
....................

Confessio Regis Betrayed

Poetic translation by Guru.I

   * * *     07.02.2026

O Father mine,
to thee I yield my grief and crave thy rede.
Yet speak — and straight I bid thee hanged,
lest light betray my deed.

Once walked my queen within the kingly close,
and — Holy Maid —
in lowly serving man she found her ease.

Not fair was she, thou know’st it well,
nor taken we from beggar’s throne;
Her wit pleased Us — yet had she held her tongue,
less venom had her speech outflown.

“Not I, my king, have fallen low,” quoth she,
“but thou hast failed to rise to him.
The gardener is dearer far
than crown and diadem.”

O Father mine — what piercing sting!
What now is left to do?
Her realm poured gold into Our hand —
and yet the heir… untrue?

The gardener speaks not — though once he lived,
his tongue was sealed and still.
What use in truth that may not speak?

Speak, Father — or thy corpse shall gilded lie.
But hush… too late.

The priest hath gone
to bear the royal sin
unto the Judge most High.

     * * *
...........   

My personal response is from the heart
            
This poem frightens not by cruelty,
but by the cold logic of power,
where death becomes a side effect of saving face.

The king is not deceived by the queen.
He is deceived by himself —
by believing love can be priced in revenue
and truth can be silenced.

The purest one is the man who never spoke.
And thus remained true.

      * * *
07.02.2026 - Guru.I