Raven

they nourish our world and our unexplored depth.

Having a god, you will always have a search in life, and having a search, you will have a meaning.

If many meanings drive life, then it is fulfilled.

And what can be a greater blessing than a rich life?

Letters understandable to a single person, a bird that sings to someone specific, a seashell gifted by the sea, the sensation of a sense of beauty,

the ability to be both an observer and an active protagonist at the same time.

The non-conflict duality inherent in the gods and shared by them with us makes our soul heavier and the beauty of personality higher.

We observe the beautiful and we create the beautiful, so why not weave into this shroud both the gods and every divine name that man has given to the inexplicable stimulus to life?

New day new drawing of Apollo

Coffee is cooling on the sand heated by the scorching sun,

You lie there and do not argue with the heat, but your gaze is chained to the sky,

It captures every thought, showing itself as a new fluffy cloud that the breeze gently pushes

One after another.

The coffee is cold, but it is too hot for the hands,

Yet, it seems these are not clouds, nor a sunny, desired burn, nor a hand from above,

But the very last grain of sand that has covered your body entirely.

It envies you so greedily for the boundless space,

And yet, the embrace becomes cooler, tighter, and deeper,

While someone goes lower and lower.

To that sky, for whose windy, restless expanses you missed so bitterly,

Every morning you drank cold, bitter coffee and knew —

It would never come down to you,

And you would never rise up.

And so you returned into the damp darkness,

The bitter one.

they’ll bring you close — then cast you from the crest, from Olympus, for grains misread…

you won’t have time!

to see whose clay once brushed those chrome-clad shoulders—

it bears the mark of your own hand’s design.

so what will you do, when height comes into view,

when suddenly it stands aligned with you?

a silent watcher with a heavy stare

will see you off — just standing there,

the splinters fly, the slope to dust is torn,

a sharpened gleam, a pointed end is born;

upon the tip an engraving gave a sign—

your voiceless, long-desired design:

you shaped the form, bestowed the perfect art,

yet cannot spread the wings—you’re not the master by the name, but by the work your hands impart.

so fly then—go, forget the wings you knew,

for they will never open back for you…

burn out, your ticket—burn it through!

In the draft, it’s gone in a flash!

Snap the pencil, splinters fly—

Everything’s wrong! Where’s the hook? A lie!

For the ideal is but an image’s breath,

While the poet sighs a slow, sweet death.

That final sigh, so deep and long,

The end of roads, the end of song!

I won’t see it anymore! Take the lead, the wood—no more!

I’ve had enough! I need the air, the sea, the peaks—a world to share!

To run away, to leave behind this cursed verse that haunts my mind!

It never rests, it’s never still, it lives against my very will!

•••

But it lives exactly like I do...

And that is why my bane is you.

Now I understand — my love is only resentment,

it is the fault of all the others

who were too alien, too unknowable,

who left me soaking in the water.

And this is how I am like Poseidon after all —

I searched for it so long,

dug down to the roots,

and rose back from them

and the likeness is here,

here lies all his power.

His power — not mine.

For a god, it burns like a wick feeds fire.

But for a human — it is a moment of destruction, a blinded act of ruin.