Gods
Summer is not summer — just snow-capped heights,
A barren land with no cities, no lights.
Only miles of the taiga, empty and deep,
Where wanderers drift — and alone they keep.
Time loops in a circle, as it did before —
Wind and its cold, and sadness everywhere.
Bears are not beasts — they are Veles' guard,
If they don't know your scent, they'll tear you apart.
As if the taiga hides something old:
The freezing frost, or the wisdom of ages untold.
Chains that the world cannot see or hold…
Here the East begins to wake,
Here the sun commands: "Rise, for my sake!"
If you've realized you stand at the edge of all —
Then you must go see Kamchatka's call.
No signal here — but a connection to gods,
You'll drink your coffee back home, on your couch, at odds.
Fish glide like thoughts through the womb of fate,
And the one who returns — will not be you, not the same.
Kamchatka Fortress of
© Copyright: Максимильян Мельков, 2026
Свидетельство о публикации №126062200068
Свидетельство о публикации №126062200068
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