Children of the Birch Forest

A cycle of poems «Whispers of Mari El»

Beneath the boughs where shadows play,
The whispers dance in silver-gray.
Oh, hear the call of ancient lore,
The birch trees weep forevermore.

The misty veil, the hollow cries,
The northern winds sing lullabies.
Our blood is old, our hearts are wild,
We are the lost, the banished child.

Oh, children of the birch, arise!
Beneath the moon, the old gods rise.
With fire in veins and frost in breath,
We walk the path of life and death.

The raven’s wing, the wolf’s embrace,
The runes still burn in sacred space.
No chains shall bind, no steel shall break,
The oath we swore for freedom’s sake.

We are the storm, the untamed tide,
The ghosts of those who never died.
The forest breathes, the earth remembers,
Our souls are wrapped in autumn embers.

Oh, children of the birch, arise!
Beneath the moon, the old gods rise.
With fire in veins and frost in breath,
We walk the path of life and death.

When twilight falls and stars align,
Our voices merge with roots and vine.
The birch shall sigh, the world will turn,
But in these woods - our spirits burn.