QUATRAINS OF A REBEL
et nunc et semper
From the depths of your wild ocean
and the heights of your black stone,
set the crowds to wilder motion,
I am here; you 're not alone.
Something in the stone is waiting,
thou must speak the magic word,
be the One who is contemplating
all the Fate within the Sword.
Search the cryptic word of fire,
rest, if thou must, for a while,
then erupt in wild desire
and arise, Volcanic Isle.
When the fiery Dragon-Keeper
gives you a piece of ancient lore,
look him in the eye, go deeper,
don’t accept and seek for more.
Heart of wrath, spirit of anger,
in these quatrains made of steel
thou has cast desire and hunger
and your will to never kneel.
If the syllables you utter
of the fiery quatrain,
you shall find all forms of matter
and all craft you shall regain.
Thus inscribes the Battle Sire:
“In this bloody, bleak domain
there’ s no soul without desire
and no body without pain”.
When your Spirit wilder wakes
in this runic Book of Psalms,
you shall find the Earth that quakes
and the Sea that never calms.
Deep within the humblest tree,
hidden well within the flower
lies the destiny of the Free
and the all-consuming Power.
Hear the whispers of the ember:
“Live or perish if thou must,
look inside me and remember
"all is ashes, all is dust"”.
Deep in the Volcano’s cave
forge, with lava, shield and sword
and you ‘ll be nobody’s slave
and no man shall be your lord.
When the sword upon the shield
beating soundeth from afar,
not my people, they will yield,
Sultan, Empress, King and Tsar.
Who the Gorgon dares to stare,
meet the Serpent’s deadly Kiss,
search inside the Dragon’s Lair,
touch the face of the Abyss?
“Can there be light more divine?
List, o Brothers, list my calls,
Heaven, Earth shall soon be mine”,
and the brightest Angel falls.
Night falls; lust attacks the Good.
Thus, before the break of day
throw your mantle and your hood,
grab your sword and maim and slay.
With this broken pen I write
lines of terror and of blood,
using the demonic might
ere I go completely mad.
Satan gathers all his siblings,
he has many things to tell,
myths and stories, horrid findings
and the fairy-tales of hell.
Thus the Demon flew unseen
on that rocky mountain peak
looking down the forest green,
eager mortal souls to seek.
The Gargoyle – a stone of sorrow
contemplates the Holy Lamp,
while the night awaits the morrow
on the bells of Notre Dame.
You can’t ponder nor imagine
all the places I have been;
feel beyond the page’s margin
all the horrors I have seen.
You who step on this dark ground,
do not seek me; it is vain;
I am nowhere to be found,
by my mistress I ‘ve been slain.
Feel the Fire-oceans wave,
it’s the Demon’s wounded heart;
he was trying you to save
from the sword, the spear, the dart.
In a crazed and horrid smile
there I stood beside the waters;
scarlet was the river Nile
from the massacres and slaughters.
“O High-priest, this world just dies,
-asks the Pharaoh- in this crisis
what to do”? The priest replies,
“Dead are Osiris and Isis”...
Can you read with fearless eyes?
These rebellious quatrains,
sons of black and alien skies,
are the blood of my own veins.
“Sons of stone, immortal brothers”,
says the Demon, “I ‘ll arrive
from the spheres unknown to others
and you ‘ll wake for you ‘re alive”.
Thou art foul, impure and weak,
wish for me not to return
for my purpose is to seek
you, to kill you is my concern.
From the land of no return
I ‘ve returned to hunt you down,
kill your brethren, slay and burn,
take thy spouse and crush thy crown.
“On this heavy battle-steel,
said the Demon, with my wings
and the craftsman’s mighty zeal
I have forged these magic rings”.
You who turned the Angel’s place
into a land of desolation,
read the marks upon my face
of my bleak abomination.
I have my soul to save and keep;
this must be a mistake,
for she is calm and fast asleep
and I am still awake.
There are letters on this stone
carved by the tempestuous flame;
do you feel betrayed, alone?...
Spell the letters, call my name...
Don’t get startled; t h i s is you,
inside your blood the fever
that whispers all that you must do;
behead them in the river.
Demon, you slept a thousand years
under your shield and sword,
the hour has come, one thousand spears
await to hear your Word.
They will say “man’s life is calm”,
they will order you to halt;
list to my demonic psalm:
disrespect all and revolt.
This is the era of The War,
the mountains high, the oceans wide,
death is the one you must ignore;
wield thy sword, choose thy side.
Evil brings upon you sleep,
a sea of death and lies;
do not dwell into the deep,
wake up, Brothers, rise.
You who grew up in this hell
join us and forsake your fathers,
join us in our cause and yell
“all the Rebels are our Brothers”.
Do not wait, for it is time,
look at me and start to fight,
sink your hearts in Love sublime,
roar, my Lions, and unite!
Do not say, “she is my mother,
she must live though she’s unjust”.
Hearts of stone we are, my brother,
we shall only spare the just.
Now that lost is all the land
thought is nothing; only action
counts, my brothers –swords in hand!-
be the war, be the destruction.
Song of wrath and song of rage,
psalm of blood and psalm of flesh,
all ye that disrupt the sage,
ye shall build the world afresh.
Vilify me if you will.
Am I barbarous and wrong?
Through the blaze and with the steel
I have built myself my song.
He, the oppressor and the thief;
you, his lustful, lying whore;
me, a bloody, wild belief
a dark faith, an endless war.
I will set the world on fire,
even if this means to be
all alone; I know no sire;
I will even burn the sea.
I, the wolf of this dark wood,
have been howling here alone;
look at me beneath my hood,
I ‘m the fire and the stone.
“Please forgive me”, cries the unjust,
“spare my soul and let me live”.
- I will do all that I must,
when you die, I will forgive.
Brothers, we were born apart,
much the fog and lo – we ‘re few,
but in this demonic art
search for Me and I ‘ll find You!
1/6 – 5/6/03
© Θεοδόσης Βολκώφ