Oh Priestess, haven’t you served the Gods
Who have inhaled the juices of the world with their wisdom?
The temple was immersed into the music of your steps,
and in the drunken ether the old rhyme was melting.
The writings old would lay down in runes,
and the candle shadows would caress the walls of the temple.
In a lilac toga you would bend near the altar,
you would sing in the fog of myrrh.
Oh Witch, you are the descendant of ancient Priestesses,
the hand of Gods that carries the will supreme,
your force may bring everyone to their knees,
but the voice of people has prepared an evil destiny to you.
‘You are the seed of darkness, a forgotten vessel,
that’s full of devil’s curses'.
Your head carries a wreath of rumors
and with a silent sadness the fire touches the hemline of your dress…
(с)Лунная Лисёна
(с) translated by Maryna Tchianova
The Priestess Жрица-Лунная Лисёна перевод
© Copyright: Марина Чиянова, 2020
Свидетельство о публикации №120080502567
Свидетельство о публикации №120080502567
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