BE AN ANGEL TO ME!

By Yasen Vedrin

(Fulfilled Universe)

Be an angel to me, prepared to fight

For every single ray in my soul with a sword.

Up close – to comfort me like a call of light,

From far – to pray for me with breaths toward the Lord.

Fold me in dreams beneath your wings at night.

Create me inside your eyes with dreams you bear.

Become a holiness – forever bright,

Ready to illuminate each moment there.

Be an angel to me! My human days

Divinely pierce and weave with sacred thread.

Forgive the sins that are beyond all ways,

And clear my wounds with tenderness instead.

Within your face let me the heavens find!

Within your hair – the thrill that nights impart!

If you’re beginning – let me be close behind,

And let eternity gather in our heart.

Be an angel to me – to faith and vow!

To fulfillment in prayer and desire’s trace!

Younger than sprouts! Older than worlds are now!

But pure – like candle flames in sacred space...

YOU ARE MINE, YOU ARE MINE!

By Yasen Vedrin

(Fulfilled Universe)

You are mine, you are mine! Just so pure and so mine,

Like the wind dancing wild on the bare mountain peak.

I would gather your drops from the downpour divine.

I would paint you on windows with breaths that I speak.

You are mine, you are mine! A bright bound in the vast,

A long prayed-for and starry, clear sky of the night.

Sunrise born from events in gold-silver morn cast.

Cloud of faith and a target for strong wings in flight.

You are mine, you are mine! An eternity wide,

Holding inside the meaning of few manly words.

Trembling strings of a lyre awoken with pride.

Flower, blooming in grass with the songs of the birds.

You are mine, you are mine! Just so pure and so mine!

Breeze that comes from the future. Loud roar of deep streams.

Tremor inside our speech. Tender tear of design!

End of all my long searches in calls and in dreams!

REMIND ME OF MY LOVE!

By Yasen Vedrin

(Fulfilled Universe)

Remind me of my love in deep, strong roots.

A tree for you through all the years I’ve been.

I fought the endless summers in pursuits

Just for your whisper and your laughter, queen.

Remind me of my love in river mouths.

It turned the little stream into a tide.

And in the gorges – fulfilled premonitions’ truths,

I only wished to sweep you to my side.

Remind me of my love in summer gales,

That blew the glowing embers into sparks.

For you were my bright coal that never fails,

And didn't cover up my thrills with darks.

Remind me of my love in starry flights,

In which I used to dream of you, unbound.

Cosmic and vast... Rain from the highest heights

In drops of galaxy crystal around.

Remind me of my love with chronicles pure,

In which we need each single line to stay.

And let God see His follower endure,

Who kept the sacred covenant all the way.

FULFILLED UNIVERSE

By Yasen Vedrin

(Fulfilled Universe)

When after all hardships and wandering far

I find your sweet gaze settling softly on me...

When seconds and minutes stop dead where they are,

And my touch in your body reminds of dawn's sea...

When impossibly ancient and sacred beliefs

Are fulfilled in a breath and a look, like a moan...

When stepping where Eden’s fore-hall brings reliefs,

I discover and know that your soul is a throne...

When dreaming and impulses, unvoiced and deep,

Seek their ultimate meaning in two words alone...

When we are like ropes that attraction will keep,

And the feeling above us as falls has been thrown...

When from lonely and hollow spaces of hands

Our fingers are woven by one single call...

When you are cross-blessed after prayed-for commands,

My only and sought-after love of them all...

When eternity finds a safe haven and crest

For all of its quiet and shimmering waves...

When you are a book, still unread and at rest,

Where echoes of poetry ring from its caves...

When joy, still unquenched and so wild in its race,

Turns all of my sparks into fireworks of fire –

Then let the great universe finally find place,

The one that I failed to bestow your desire...

WALK ME THROUGH, O MY LOVE!

By Yasen Vedrin

(Fulfilled Premonitions)

Walk me through, O my love! I am your longest path to pursue!

Ready even ten pairs of your shoes in a day to destroy.

There is an untouched peak in white clouds. Let it happen that you

Will discover it first, having walked all along me with joy.

Walk me through, O my love! Only travelers truly can love,

When they want to search out a bright stream or a star from the night.

They will find all their dreams, once they lose them to heavens above,

Like a faith that is wandering safe in God’s hands out of sight.

Walk me through, O my love! The endless is shrinking down fast.

And the borders are warming our eyes with kind shoulders to bear.

Weary even to death, to remember you’re living at last –

For the priceless prepared to pay prices and bills everywhere.

Walk me through, O my love! I alone bring eternity's flare!

Like bright circles, in sunrise and sunset, o’er steppes set ablaze.

And at last – having touched my near distance so close and so rare,

Turn into my own path. And I will start traveling your ways!

A NOTEBOOK FOR LOVE

By Yasen Vedrin

(Fulfilled Premonitions)

Search inside my poor memory, O love –

Old, worn pages of notebooks and space.

Find all wonderful balms from above,

And the paths to your measureless grace.

I am unable to turn back the time,

But I pray to you now... Take a look!

I’ve no call withered by anxious rime.

Your sweet days were a beautiful book!

Like a puzzle of pictures so bright

All the pieces inside me arrange.

Where you’re spring-like and blue in the light,

Leaving traces in grass without change.

Or where summer-hot touches are born,

In which palms turn to nests that are blessed.

And it’s so, oh so warm from that morn,

As if fire untamed reigns in the chest...

Do not skip any meetings or nights.

Every page that is in me just read.

And my eyes will become candlelights,

If through nights with my soul you will tread.

Do not cross out the errors of past.

Maybe through them my hair turned to white.

And forgive me, humanely and fast,

Even sins that are darkest to sight.

And when reaching the cover at last –

Shelter all of my memory near.

In my quill a bright spark is still cast

To light words and the dreams I hold dear.

Search me through! Let your spirit remain!

I have found no last word or goodbye...

You stay heavenly visible and plain,

Like a tender God's smile in the sky!

BE EVERYTHING TO ME!

By Yasen Vedrin

(Fulfilled Premonitions)

If you are pain, should I then experience you?

If you are gift, should I gift myself away?

If you are spring, should I inside calls thirst for you?

If you are fire, should I burn you with my spray...

If you are song, should I inside verse sing your tone?

If you are flight, should I fly across your space?

If you are secret, should I understand you, alone?

If you are pardon, should I pardon your embrace...

If you are cross, should I crucify and stay

My late and chained up impulse to your side?

If you are anchor, should I sink down right away

Into the depths where your pure dreams abide?

If you are miracle, should I weep you in a moan?

If you are dream, a sigh upon my chest?

If you are threshold, should I cross you all alone?

My only love! Be everything, my best!…

IS IT WORTHWHILE?

By Yasen Vedrin

(Fulfilled Premonitions)

Do not ask Love if it is worth the cost.

For human souls it has no price or chart.

It seems a breath, yet blows like tempests tossed.

It is a tear, yet waves within the heart.

It gleams with sparks – in fleeting moments caught,

But inside flames a roaring fire will expand.

Upon our faces, impressions will be wrought.

With pure delight it silvers hair and strand.

From pieces of mere clay a jar it molds

And inside marble wakes sonnets from the dead.

Our quietest of secrets it unfolds.

Within our brightest prayers it guards our bed.

It stops the minutes, weeks, and rolling years

Into a single, unchangeable, clear call.

And all its spring-like gardens past our tears

We hardly shall walk through with you at all.

Most Sacred in our hearts, resolved to stay,

It shines upon a throne of brilliant light...

Do not ask Love if it is worth the way.

For human souls it has no price or sight.

WONDROUS LOVE, SILVER-FACED

By Yasen Vedrin

(Gold Coins in the Oak Chest)

Wondrous love, silver-faced, from my soul it begins to awaken.

Turning into a stream by the cliffs, and a falls in the stones.

And the wind, by its beauty enchanted, a lyre has taken,

Softly whispering spray to the thorns and the briars in zones.

In a flash, living grass in a wonderful tremor turns green,

And it waits to be spotted by carpet-weavers on their part.

Cuckoo calls from fatigue. Sweetest nightingale sings all unseen.

While the stream – running downward – keeps pouring its luminous heart.

An old mill of our village. You come here in dressed-up attire.

And the water keeps turning the wheel near the sunrise so bright.

Knead a loaf of round bread for me, shared and faithful desire,

On a furnace of burning hot coals let it bake through the night.

Wondrous love, silver-faced, from my soul it now flows to the land.

Come along to the threshing-floor soon! Invite guests to the floor!

My own spring found your way, and it vows for your love and your hand.

Eloped with me, my darling! I want you, elope evermore...

MY DEAR CHOSEN FATE-WEAVER!

By Yasen Vedrin

(Gold Coins in the Oak Chest)

Do you heal heavy wounds, my dear chosen and beautiful fate-weaver?

Do you still keep that gift in your fingers that tremble and gleam?

Maybe you have found herbs that were wonderfully fashioned forever,

For the heroes whose hopes have run out like a fast-fading dream.

Light a wild, burning fire from leaves and dry twigs in the valley.

Pour a copper pot full from the stream that flows down by the clearing.

Rip my shirt into pieces... Right there, where my heart used to rally,

A fierce pain cuts me through, and the memory keeps reappearing.

How can one forget faces, once dreamed of in nights that were starry?

How can sadness be cured, when no potion is found for its grief?

And my tired, old eyes – by what miracle do they now vary,

Or do they just fall asleep, having seen their own end and relief?

Sprinkle powder upon my bare chest from the long-barreled rifle.

Throw a burning hot coal – let the deep, bleeding wound be now seared.

Then with handfuls of water my destiny’s dark shadows stifle –

Just a moment before by the mountain-top rays you are cleared.

DID YOU WEAVE IT, MY MOTHER?

By Yasen Vedrin

(Gold Coins in the Oak Chest)

Did you weave it, my mother, that last woolen rug on the loom,

From those rags that you cut into pieces, so many and small?

In my shattered, old memory, holy and clear through the gloom,

You alone have remained, and to God for your eternity I’d call.

Did you weave all my old recollections – to step and feel warm?

To be breathed by the magical scent of a quince on the shelf...

To tell you without voice that you are my protection from storm,

Like a living icon that the heart never hides from itself.

Did you weave all my tears that I wept since a boy in the street,

With my knees torn and bleeding, and burning from nettles like fire?

Did you weave all the sparks that remained in the bread-morsel sweet,

And the hard clods of earth by the field of our village and sire?

Did you weave all the sighs in your quiet and passionate mind?

By my white little bed from the eve till the morn you would stay...

Did you weave all the seasons that left you so silver and kind,

And that painted your face with the wrinkles of heavy decay?

You have woven it all, I well know... And the gate speaks your name.

By the locust tree, empty, that rug is now spread on the ground.

On my knees, I now kiss your bright spirit. I’ll pass just the same,

But I’ll pass to my children your shuttle from looms you have wound.

THE FINAL MEANING

By Yasen Vedrin 

(Gold Coins in the Oak Chest)

These summers of mine – like the water-buffaloes, old and resigned,
How long they have plowed through our hopes with the sharp, iron blade...
But the colorful dreams yet unlived have been left far behind,
As if I had prayed for another to find their warm shade.

The downpours of rain have rushed out. In the spring, in the autumn, and heat.
The thunders have crashed with their lightning and short-living trace.
While my soul counted all of its tears – offered at God’s own feet,
To make His pure waters burst out... Holy rivers of grace!

My hair became white, as if branded and seared by the heavy white frost,
And the dry, barren river of call cut its wrinkles in clay.
My faith became bent from the load that it carried, exhausted and lost,
But it didn't trample its duty beneath Christ’s own Cross on the way.

I didn't live to that day, which was set for a miracle find.
Perhaps I refused to give up my whole soul on the altar to rise.
And inside the future there still remain dreams that must die in the mind,
To bring Resurrection and life to my gift in the skies.

These summers of mine – like the water-buffaloes, old and resigned,
How long they have plowed... And a field is still waiting ahead!
Let me drive them once more with my eyes that are sleepless and blind,
For the ultimate meaning – that His was the life that I led.

A COVENANT LESSON

By Yasen Vedrin

(The Bird Inside You)

Now listen to words that are faithful and grand,

And let them become your past Covenant Guide.

The people who love have a heart to command,

Because they are moved by God’s Hand on their side.

In trouble – they’re merciful; in blessings – they give,

They set hearts on fire and touch human fates.

In their own secret pathways they choose how to live,

Far away from the praise that the earthly man states.

They gather up treasures in Heaven’s safe chest,

And no one feels damage from love that is pure.

With prayers and songs they fight grief for the best,

And their heavy fight is a cross to endure.

By Goodness they're drawn, and by Faith they are bound.

Along the steep pathway they leave out a trace.

Above all the slanders and hates they are found,

And they always swim where live waters find place.

They are words of the Lord, and they’re white loaves of bread.

A call from Mount Zion smells sweet from their deed.

And bright, holy borders inside souls are spread

Close to the Great King on His Throne for our need.

The people who love are the Seed that is blest,

Which brought to our God the most glorious Fruit –

To manifest Christ at the time of behest

And inside His Love and His Life to take root.

WHEN I IN PEACE WITH GOD REMAIN…

By Yasen Vedrin

(The Bird Inside You)

To lie is something I can’t do,

But follow Justice on my track –

When I in Peace with God remain,

With devils I am in attack.

There is no way on Earth for me

To keep a neutral, passive face.

The Lord accursed the snake to be,

And I don't want that dark disgrace.

As much and closely as I can

To Evil I will stand as shield.

To reconcile the God with man –

This is my bright and open field.

To be the Word for many souls

Became my destiny and sight.

And with a Sword – for sacred goals

To always enter Holy fight.

My hands are heavy with fatigue

From following Christ Jesus' way,

And Aaron and Hur within my league

I seek for brotherly love today.

But in this century they are gone.

They were renowned in ancient past.

And traders in the Temple zone

Are the last Amalek at last.

But God remains my Banner still

And always will be just as grand –

A burning flame my heart to fill,

A Lion in my spirit's land.

I stay His own, by no constraint,

But through Covenant, Choice, and Faith.

Bearing each strike without complaint –

Denied, blasphemed in every breath.

But still Zarephath's widow, kind,

Will give my spirit love untold,

For in her humble mite I find

That Christ is reigning as of old.

What of it? In the future days I smile

From peaks of Holy mountains high…

When I in Peace with God remain,

With devils I am in attack.

THE GREEN MILE (MY CREDO)

By Yasen Vedrin

(The Bird Inside You)

(In memory of Michael Clarke Duncan, who played 

John Coffey in the movie "The Green Mile")

At last this prison lock will have an end,

And far beyond my flying soul will stride.

But let the unavoidable descend

While on my own Green Mile I watch and bide.

Having overcome the darkness, chains, and bars –

To be right there where plague destroys the land,

Where God’s own love seems missing from the stars,

And Mercy has no comforting, warm hand.

Does a bright flash of lightning ever die,

That cuts across the heavens with its ray?

Is it not summer for frozen ones nearby,

And pardon for cold eyes along the way?

While angels dance their waltz up in the skies,

And in their beauty, thrills the moment’s light –

John, is it not worthwhile, before it flies,

To walk my own Green Mile into the night?

And to give everything away – to breath and song.

Left with no single thing. Barefoot and bare.

Even immortalized and ghostlike, strong,

Right at the electric chair's final flare.

At last this prison fades and slips away,

And to the everlasting flies the mind.

While down below – in wonder's overflow and play,

The life from my Green Mile is left behind...

JUDAH BEN-HUR

By Yasen Vedrin

(The Bird Inside You)

(a verse for the movie that changed my life)

The snow-white horses are still racing fast

Before Messala’s chariot of the night.

O, Lord! For just a single moment past

Be in my graying soul a ray of light...

Be like a sip of water in dry heat,

While my heavy chain is burning still on me...

To know, O Christ, You are my safe retreat,

When faith can’t reach my lips to set me free...

Be like a call thrown out of sorrow's span,

Throughout my heavy galley fate and thread.

To house true love instead of vengeance, man,

Forgiving foes from yesterday instead...

Be to me blood from Cross! And be a trace

Along the dusty pathways of Judea...

To remember Bethlehem’s bright star of grace,

Which saved my spirit from the dark idea.

The snow-white horses are still racing fast

Before Messala’s chariot of the night.

An open heaven shines in me at last

With one white hand, pierced through with sacred light.

THE FAILURE AND THE SENTENCE

By Yasen Vedrin

(The Rise of the Fall)

The failure rests in Judas’ silver purse.

The sentence – within Pilate’s washing bowl.

And every ugly, calculated curse

Wears Holy Grace to mask its dirty soul.

The business goes on quietly and well.

There are as many traders as you please,

Even when beggars inside sighs must dwell

For small coins from the dressed-up corpse to tease.

No one will scare them with a whip of cords.

The stalls are piled up, endless in their line…

And silver pieces, like the Blood of Lords,

Ring with their furious pirouette divine.

Foul is the swamp, filled up and overflowing,

Adorned with labels like an "Eden" space.

A class, so gospel-wealthy in their showing,

Foresees their God from fatness in its place…

In an idyll, beloved by the crowd,

Both shepherds and the flocks are blessed and free.

But in the realm where fast cash makes them proud,

The Evil bodeful shapes the catastrophe.

Both dogma and doctrine clank with heavy chains.

From pulpits, moldy words begin to fall.

The true sin stays where Mary Magdalene reigns,

And not inside that Judas' gut and all…

Christ’s people, cast away with exiled fate,

Wander their hell in sackcloth, cold and sad.

The failure rests in Judas’ silver purse.

The sentence – within Pilate’s washing bowl.

THE FINAL VESUVIUS

By Yasen Vedrin

(The Rise of the Fall)

Vesuvius roars and swells in size

Amidst the clouds of sulfurous breath.

The boiling lava starts to rise

Deep in the mountain’s vaults of death.

Below the volcano's dark dome,

The crowds, abandoned to their sin,

Hear not the threat above their home,

Nor fear the Lord who looks within.

They raise the golden calves to view

In their abominable bow,

And in vain noise, accursed too,

To Mammon they give glory now.

Beside them – with iron spears ahead –

The earthly beasts rejoice and cry,

And rage from hell’s abysses fed

Calls them for bloody fights nearby.

Throughout the vale – the chaff is found,

All gathered up in bundles high.

Vesuvius roars above the ground,

Above the Earth's foul corpse nearby.

It roars. And soon it will explode

With its merciless, angry blast.

And doom will strike the evil road

When that fierce blast erupts at last.

For now, when reaching out to save,

A hand of Mercy and Love appears,

They beat the pure ones with a stave,

And throw the faithful to their tears.

Alas, to Justice they are blind,

Captured by giants of the night.

The thorn and greedy burdock bind

Below the peak of blinding might.

“Depart from Me, you cursed race!” –

They’ll hear from a Voice so grand.

And everyone will feel fire's place,

With judgment in their hour at hand.

And sealed by lava's heavy state,

Ready to turn them into stone,

They will recall their earthly fate

And all their empty days alone.

But I pray Thee! Heal and save,

O Lord, the sinful souls in fright!

For if You thunder like Vesuvius’ wave,

The dark won't soothe them in the night…

THE ULTIMATE BANDIT

By Yasen Vedrin

(The Rise of the Fall)

Do not look on with angry eyes

At the elite that knows no law.

All other bandits shrink in size

Before the master bandit's claw.

No mortal flesh can push his space,

No speeding bullet pierces through.

He acts from his dark, evil place,

Upon a throne of crime anew.

Within his hand, the kings are pawns.

All wars are earthly vanity.

He snaps humanity like thorns

When driving them to death's decree.

Dressed in a mantle of deceit,

He has a grand repertoire to show.

As Temple angel, pure and sweet,

Or spins just like a die below.

With power held through thousand years,

He builds his pressure on our clay.

He rules with armies full of jeers

To throw all human souls away.

He purchases consciences and thrones.

He trades in secrets of deep sin.

He plays foul parts in filthy zones

And calls himself a saint within.

But in his nature there remains

A ultimate weakness, a fierce dread,

For he's a snake in fragile chains,

Once Jesus' Holy Name is said…

And when the Sword strikes through his space,

Polished with Justice – Sacred, bright,

He falls upon his knees in disgrace,

Just like a rag, stripped of his might.

And let the Faithful know and see

That God has sent the Spirit's Gift,

From Which in darkness weeps in knee

The beast accursed, with no uplift.

All other bandits shrink in size

Before the master bandit's claw,

But Holiness stands past the skies,

And there's a Sword of fearsome law.

If you swing it with Faith in Christ,

You pierce the gloom and shadows gray,

And like a shadow sacrificed,

The bandit Satan fades away.

PARABLE OF THE TREES

By Yasen Vedrin

(The Rise of the Fall)

The trees assembled once into the wood.

They wished to have a king to rule their space.

The most majestic near and far he stood,

Whose name would be praised high in every place.

“Come, Fig Tree, come! Become our reigning king!

For there is none like you inside our land.

Your sweet, rich fruit will soothe the grief we bring.

You are the greatest, worthy to command.”

“I shall not leave my juicy, tender fruit!” –

The Fig Tree answered to the crowded wood.

“To serve and give is Life in my pursuit,

But earthly power revolts me where I stood.”

“Come, Olive Tree! Reign high above our ground!

Where can we find another like your form?

Within your Holy Oil a ray is found!

From North to South your value keeps us warm!”

“I will not rule with berries from my branch!” –

The Olive answered with a Holy grace.

“One God bestows the Light that none can quench!

Without Him, there's no Meaning in this place!”

“Come, sunny Vine, and reign above our space!

And let the wine into our cups be poured!

Become our queen with boundless power and grace,

The woods will pride in thrones you can afford!”

“I would not hold my grapes inside the clay!” –

The Vine had told them with a charming voice.

“Not every wine creates a vain display,

But passions look for ends by their own choice.”

The trees then withered in a nightmare deep.

Above them, no one wished to rule or reign.

Where could they find a master they could keep,

Whose mortal price would not be spent in vain...

They found him... Bramble! Thorny unto death!

In swarms of restless, wild mosquitoes bound.

Sucking up poisons with a mole’s dark breath,

Scratching and piercing everyone around.

“Come, terrifying one! Become our king!

Piercing us with your ominous, sharp thorn!

The voice of every creature cries to spring!

We pray you, Bramble, rule us from this morn!

In this sly world become our earthly share,

Until our clay within the dust decays!

For this is our last state and grim despair –

That you’re in us, and we are in your ways...”

MADAME PRIDE!

By Yasen Vedrin

(The Copper Bowl)

Madame Pride! I’m leaving you today!

Your fine, sophisticated drink I scorn.

With tiny sips of passion, as a prey,

You captured me; in Hell was Heaven born.

I used to wish your words would overflow,

And even wanted your stage-managed crown.

Upon your face no stain of sin would show,

You were a pure Madonna in my town.

What kind of blinded impulse did I find

To follow you, as quiet as a sigh?

Why was I weak before your words and mind,

Bound by your magic leash beneath the sky?

From all the brilliant glare your dishes start,

My soul forgot the place where it was born.

Those brothers who are wandering apart,

Whom nobody will praise or ever mourn.

Wretches and dogs in heavy mud that stay.

Even tramps who dig into the cinder pile...

...I choked upon an orange slice today.

I cannot drink your cocktail all the while.

Your glass made out of colored glass and light

I do not want before my pupils clear.

Even if I have a lineage, lost from sight –

With open covers I am standing here.

Inside my soul I’ll weep out every groan.

I’ll wipe away the tears of those in need.

Madame Pride! Farewell! No bow or throne!

Before your face my spirit shall not bleed!

GO SINK INTO THE GROUND!

By Yasen Vedrin

(The Copper Bowl)

I do not play at dice with the Deceiver.

Do not assume this choice is just a right.

Once his authoritative die gets over –

It pulls and binds so many in its might.

And afterwards – just like a stringed puppet

The captured man betrays his own poor heart.

To be a living corpse where dead men sit,

And look as if his death became his part.

I would not ask great Goethe for advice –

How Mephistopheles tempts with his art,

But it’s enough my head through sacrifice

Refused a crown of fame for thorns apart.

And not for even one single moment’s trace

Will I whisper a call in demonic chaos.

And in the claws of that old cynic’s face

I will not be the learned doctor Faust.

Why is that so? Because I’m simple-born,

And simplicity holds me in its wonder.

The absinthe of my guest, whom I now scorn,

I would not sip for any price or plunder.

He holds a contract in his fingers high,

But with no seal from Christ's own Blood divine...

“...Absorb with thrills each calculated lie!

And lick the poison from your lips like wine!

I can bestow this world to be your gain.

Become your halo and your dark enigma.

Be like a nail to me! With you in pain

To burn within the holes of God’s own stigma...”

No, devil! Your accursed and wicked die

I do not want for fate and blinded madness.

You turned the world into a flea market high,

Where filthy crowds look at your stalls with gladness.

Though you are king of rulers in this land,

In your charisma of deceit and shame –

I do not play at dice with your own hand!

Go sink into the ground, from where you came!

THE LOCKSMITH

By Yasen Vedrin

(The Copper Bowl)

Bustle. Noise. A chaotic crowd.

Everyone is trying to go first.

At a stall – within a gloomy cloud –

Sells the devil locks to feed his thirst.

“Come on, people! Keep inside the line!

Goods have been delivered for you all.

Only let me see, in order fine,

All your hands reaching toward my stall.

Oh, dear lady! Heart dressed up in lace!

Put it on the scale right away!

And you will receive from me a space –

Just the lock that fits you for today.

Safety, is it? Please, madame, don't cry!

You are making me out loud to laugh.

Once I lock your shame and keep it dry –

You will be a fairy on my staff.

You will never suffer from any need,

Nor from grief and filthy charity.

But your brand-new world will be indeed

Like an Eden, with no scarcity.

Look, how easy is it! Isn't that so?

Next one please... Well done, my dear sir!

You are used to let your heart pain grow,

But it's better if it grows colder.

Scruples, did you say? By God! Oh, no!

Hell’s own guarantee is what you gain!

Even an orphan kneeling down below

Will bring laughter. Not a bit of pain!

Key, you ask? Yes! But it stays with me!

Every lock is sold locked from the start.

Thus eternal captive life you'll see,

And a happy living as your part.

Hey, young man! Are you here coming too?

Splendid! So young, yet you want my task!

With a heart that beats like hammers do,

Building up the monument I ask...

Cool, you say? What are you talking? Look!

Super you will be beneath my shield!

Your bright future now is off the hook

With this devilish purchase in your field!”

Bustle. Noise. A chaotic crowd.

Padlocks. Tombs where final death is spun.

Hiding in the ominous, dark cloud

Goes the devil with man’s hearts undone...

A COPPER BOWL

By Yasen Vedrin

(The Copper Bowl)

I saw a strange thing in my sleeping,

Jesus disguised as a poor man.

Beside a rich man’s doorstep keeping

A comfortless and grieving span.

He stretched his hands to beg for living,

Holding a little copper bowl.

Without answers, without giving

A question if you’re good or foul...

And look – the heavy door is creaking.

Out comes a rich man in a hat.

Like horses, up his head is peeking,

He looks at gray skies, cold and flat.

He goes to buy a paper, walking.

Should he now take a brolly high?

A moment later, near his stalking,

A copper bowl gleams in his eye.

“Oh, just a little mercy, mister!

A tiny coin from your own soul!”

“No! Not for you, you filthy blister!

I’m sick of begging hands that stroll!

Get out of here! You smell like rot!

You crawled from some deep, dirty hole!

Can’t you see written on this spot –

This home is model as a whole?”

With furious eyes after this talking,

The evil wealthy man is bound

To buy a paper from his walking,

With his favorite reportage found.

The beggar Jesus takes a flight

Just like an angel, on the fly.

The heavens hide Him in a bright

And prayerful rain with tearful sky.

Inside a bar, the man is seating,

He opens papers with a smile...

Sips from his coffee while he's eating

A sweet croissant to pass the while...

The rainy weather wakes me inside.

I leave the house, no brolly high.

To find a beggar on the curbside,

With a copper bowl passing by...

To recognize inside my keeping

The longing of the Good God's heart!

I want no more while world is weeping,

A doomed and cruel world from start!

LOVE ONE ANOTHER!

By Yasen Vedrin

(Pearl Seeker)

Love one another! Everything beside

As meaning has long ceased to burn and glow.

In inglorious oblivion quickly hide

Success and power, money, properties below.

And happiness for thousand reasons grand

We search for in the places where it’s not,

And then – after the robbed years of our land –

Grief presses us to knees within our lot.

In illusions, compromises, and vows made,

The days now freeze with their conceited ice.

Having jumped our highest bars that we had laid –

We fence ourselves with low hurdles, not wise.

And the north wind keeps blowing with no peace,

In endless doubts and jealousies untold.

While torn emotions are devoured and cease

By force that howls like wolves into the cold…

We lose ourselves in nights of anxious care,

And cheap makeup conceals our daily track.

For simple things – we’re complex everywhere,

And from forgiving pain, we hold it back.

Is it a mold? A grim deceit so deep,

But this wild world is racing like a dream.

And having started for the truest match to keep

We cannot even step outside the stream…

Having leapt past comforts and each heavy bar

To warm up features that have faded out –

For maybe still there wander, young and far,

Unborn and uncreated dreams of doubt.

Love one another! Time is running low,

And dross for journeys is of no amount.

And only he whose love is true and slow

Could double up his life on Earth's account!

LIVE ME, O LOVE!

By Yasen Vedrin

(Pearl Seeker)

Live me, O love! Long live me through your days!

Thirst for my soul from future years that gleam.

For some impossible jubilee that stays,

Where feelings turn to pictures in a dream.

And in the silver threads of hair, the mind

Begins to echo memory's old track…

Live me within the warmth that embers find,

When final coals burn out and fade to black.

Do not smooth down the wrinkles deep and wide.

They are but rivers with dried-up, hard beds.

Live me! To overflow with rolling tide,

Although their salt stays hidden where it treads.

Tie all the seasons in a single knot.

Do not gaze back at youth that flew away.

Though heavy with the age that is our lot –

Live me, as if I were a minster gray.

Bright rays will pass into your soul and gleam,

And winds that suddenly have gone and died.

The world, just like an acorn, bitter will seem,

With missed-out meetings, partings cast aside.

But you, still gentle, live me as you must,

And let me be your autumn potion, bright –

For that single moment, when Holy Chrism and trust

Shall seal our final faith and confession's light.

And somewhere, in the stars on night’s dark dome,

Two shadows will find eternity anew…

Live me, O love! Life's Meaning in its home

Still whispers softly that it’s Me and You!

PINOCCHIO

By Yasen Vedrin

(Pearl Seeker)

Do you recall the ancient story told

About a boy assembled out of wood?

His master breathed a ray of faith so bold –

A miracle in nature, bright and good.

The timid little creature made a start

To get to know this world so wide and grand –

How man is born to love with all his heart

And fights to find a friend in every land.

Pinocchio was a puppet, fair and fine,

Who could walk out without a single thread.

In crowded halls, he’d make the audience shine –

To thieves and rich men, laughter he would spread.

In some terrible, causeless turn of fate,

He soon became a target for all bad.

The tremor of his innocence so great

Suffered from blamed and guilty faults he had.

Both greed and fraud had grabbed him in their stride.

Traps and deceits had tripped his steps away.

And the poor wood within its tragic tide

Knew that his life was heavy day by day.

But with a tiny, single flame of love,

He started walking toward the dark-blue sea.

To save his father, looking up above –

Even if death should set his spirit free.

Into the whale’s terrifying womb

Pinocchio had dived, troubled and deep,

To test his love inside that monstrous gloom

And break the captive hold it wished to keep…

Do you recall the ancient story told

About the wood that turned into a boy?

Perhaps it is repeating, clear and old,

To draw us to its wisdom and its joy?

Love reads us through with its consuming fire.

Let us now catch its word and make it turn.

Perhaps a piece of wood holds our desire –

The secret truth that we were made to burn…

THROUGH TIME

By Yasen Vedrin

(Pearl Seeker)

Through time I passed just like a verse is spun,

Born from the wounds that never found a heal.

I cured the pain of grieving souls undone.

I touched sad hearts, scattered and unreal.

I crossed my Rubicons, day after day.

And stretched the borders that impossible seemed.

I was Rodin’s white thinker on his way,

Gazing at anxious horizons that gleamed.

Alone I gathered feathers torn and shed.

I sewed them into wings – Daedalus, I guess.

And I could understand where birds were led,

Why they fly high in skies of golden bless.

I filled my hands with seashells from the shore –

The pearly tenderness that oceans start.

Why, where, how long, when did it open more –

Each answer found its shelter in my heart.

By ancient pathways tempted and enticed –

I looked for limits in the wood and stone.

And in an old, wise parable sufficed –

Like a bright lamp with burning flame alone.

I gave myself away – just like a rock

Turned into sand by waves that strike the shore.

Feathers and shells, the fire’s burning shock

Filled all my days with meaning evermore.

Through time I passed just like a verse is spun.

Upon my knees – before the wisdom past.

I do not know if self-forgiveness won,

But God’s own pardon is eternal and will last.

PARABLE OF THE WONDROUS RIVER

By Yasen Vedrin

(The Copper Bowl)

A beautiful legend conquered my mind.

An old, sacred tale of a river so grand.

It healed every torment and grief of mankind,

Once washing the heart with a splash from the hand.

The deepest and open wounds quickly would mend.

No scar or a mark would remain to be seen.

A broken flower its new roots would send.

A dying spirit would spark and grow clean.

Along the green bank, a true Eden for all,

Day and night, lines of crowds would arrive.

The misfortunes of life that would bitterly fall,

Everyone wanted to melt and survive.

But they failed to learn the great lesson inside,

Concealed in the wise, flowing river and creek.

They were only enticed by the success and the tide,

Without a heart weeping in chests of the meek.

Without the silence of awe for the grace,

Without each poor soul bowing down in the mud…

And with hope, that the Lord had awakened to trace,

To give out around drops of love like a flood…

The clamor and cries from the mouths with no peace

Then saddened the river with sorrow and dread.

In a flash, all the waters subsided to cease,

And the green, blooming bank became darkened and dead.

Thus they left, with their anger unconquered and high,

Long lines of sin-burdened and sorrowful souls.

And they quickly returned with their open wounds nigh,

Midst misfortunes that shatter all human goals.

Only an old man with weeping and sighs

Held a handful of gift from the stream in his palms.

And he wrote in a legend of wisdom and cries

This end of the human estate and its qualms.

The river is still flowing living out there,

And with its pure waters a wonder imparts.

It is seen in the eyes that are weeping in prayer,

When people humble before God their hearts.

PARABLE OF THE KIND MAN AND THE SNAKE

By Yasen Vedrin

(The Rise of the Fall)

A kind man walked the forest floor,

A dying snake he chanced to see.

A swelling on its head it bore,

Which woke his deepest sympathy.

“Oh, let me take this wounded thing

Into my home and tend its grief,

For to all lives that breathe and spring

My troubled soul would bring relief.

With healing herbs and potions rare

I’ll cure the snake and ease its pain,

And we shall be a friendly pair…” –

The naive man resolved in vain.

He put it in his bag with care

And brought it home to heal its skin.

A month went by, and then and there

The snake grew swift and bright within.

The kind man rejoiced. “Behold,

I brought this creature back to live!

And every blessing, new or old,

Returns with fruit that it can give.

And this happy little living thing

Begins to crawl and move with glee.

It coils tightly like a ring

And brings out tears of joy in me…”

Thus spoke the man with open mind,

Succeeded in his deeds so bright.

He stroked the creature – soft and kind,

For it was his companion quite.

He laid it in a bed of bran,

And then he went to sleep and rest,

But soon the snake's dark pupils ran

With burning fury in its breast.

And so the snake with filthy spite

Bit the kind man without remorse.

He woke up late into the night…

Numbed by the pain along his course.

“Tell me, O cruel creature, why

Did you just bite me in my bed?

Did I not heal you, standing by,

With goodness that my hands have shed?

Why do you punish me with death,

To leave this life alone and cold?

Did you rise from the pit beneath

Of that dark spirit from of old?”

“My nature is accursed and vile!” –

The creature hissed into the space.

“Of all the beasts that crawl the wild

To me belongs the foul disgrace.

Great mercy you have shown to me,

But I have bit you in my pride.

This is your tragic destiny,

For there is nothing on our side…”

The kind man died in spasm sharp.

He closed his eyes into the night.

And let true wisdom like a harp

Resound from this clear tale of might.

A snake deserves no home or trust.

The Good and Evil cannot fuse.

No place for devils in our dust,

For they are driven by Jesus.

A PRISON STORY

By Yasen Vedrin

(The Copper Bowl)

A story now I shall unfold

Of a struggle that came to grief.

A rebel with a heart of gold

Tripped up his fate and found no peace.

He often loved to talk and share

With all his friends in dialogue,

That in his soul he could not bear

The ruler, a cruel, tyrant dog.

But his plain words were overheard

By treacherous men of evil mind.

And soon with slander and a word

A spying trap was redesigned.

The man cried out his painful groan.

He spoke out words of fighting might.

But microphone records were blown,

And he knew nothing of his plight.

With heavy rage and brutal force

The tyrant chased him from that day.

And in a flash, his human course

Was covered in wormwood's decay.

Within the prison he was cast

Marked as a rebel of the state,

And with the others there at last

His heart was grieving for his fate.

A cellmate lived beside his bed –

A withered wretch with beard so white.

But in the fate that he was led

He became brother, father, light.

And just before he took his flight

To go to God’s sweet, heavenly floor,

He chose to share his wisdom's light

In one last Holy lesson more.

“Now listen to my words, my son,

Before my eyes forever close.

This prison time will soon be done

And memory will erase its woes.

A cunning man recorded you

And basely slandered all your art.

I know today you tremble through

And this oppresses your poor heart.

But let another record stay

Before you open and revealed.

For God puts conscience in our clay

To be a fierce, targeted shield.

It keeps a record of each deed,

Of hidden sins and spoken word.

An unseen judge above our breed,

When summoned by the Living Lord.

And sinners howl in hell's deep fire,

If in their life they did not try

To clear from conscience their desire –

The devil's wealth they lived to buy.

Fall on your knees in prayer now

For God to pardon your misdeed.

The soul will fly – we know not how –

To fall, or shine like holy seed…

From me, a wretch in heavy chain,

A blessing comes to you with love,

For just one drop of Blood is gain

For peace beneath God's tent above…”

The old man died, bent down and low,

Above his grieving son and brother.

But with his final, parting glow,

Grace came to wash the cells each other.

And in that bright and sacred space

The man felt Holy freedom far,

Along an unseen path of grace

Toward a bright, sweet Morning Star.

A TALK WITH AN ANGEL

By Yasen Vedrin

(The Bird Inside You)

“I am watching… You aren't from here, brother!

Where are you from? Just tell me, I pray!”

“I come here from a world like no other.

I’m an angel. From Heaven, to say!”

“And why did you descend in this shade?

Among hovels, where grief has no end…”

“For the good souls my heart is dismayed.

My white feathers to them I will lend.”

“Will each feather suffice for a soul,

So that man turns to God from his track?”

“He must only choose good as his goal,

And his hope will bring all spirit back…”

“Maybe he, just like you, will take flight…

Like a bird in the sky, wild and free.”

“Let him pardon all evil and spite,

Leave his cage and its narrow decree.”

“Give me, angel, a blessing so quiet,

And some feathers – to share your own call!”

“Go to man in the low, destitute riot,

Where the tears of the poverty fall!”

“I will give all your feathers out there,

But will new ones grow back on your skin?”

“Every angel finds temples to share,

Once Christ is beloved deep within…”

“Up above, down below… Eternity stays!

Even hearts can hold God in their zone!”

“Go now, traveler! My feathers will raise

And will wing your bright lyre, alone!”

“Will you come back again? Let me know!

I still want your great wings to behold!”

“Go now! Follow your path down below,

While I hide in the deeds you unfold…”

“I am leaving… The steep path is mud,

But I trust that the Lord sent you here…”

“We shall meet once again in the flood of the beyond –

Bright messengers, winged and clear!”

BITTER SWEETNESS

By Yasen Vedrin

(The Vine of Engadi)

“How fair is thy love, my sister, my spouse! 

how much better is thy love than wine...”

(Song of Solomon 4:10)

I wanted you like wormwood wine, in foam!

To taste the bitter flavor of your breath.

With tenderness inside my sips to roam.

Within my thoughts a song to defeat death.

A path I walked – to find you and possess.

A night I stayed – alone beneath the skies.

A dream I dreamed – to drink your tenderness.

A wish I wished – to steal the dream that flies.

I found you now. An aged wine to share.

A magic moment has captured every word.

Pour in my heart! No pity and no care!

And stay a bitter sweetness – yet unheard!

AFTER THE SUNSET

By Yasen Vedrin

(The Vine of Engadi)

“I am my beloved's, and my beloved is mine: 

he feedeth his flock among the lilies.”

(Song of Solomon 6:3)

How I desire this joy to never fade,

Imbued with scent that clover fields impart.

By burning sunsets into night we're led,

Yet every rising morning tears us apart.

And that high tremor from the bells above

Recalls a shepherd's call upon the breeze.

Grant me your soft caress, a vow of love,

To burn me through the meadows' rolling seas.

Let day now end – with colorful sheep asleep.

Let all the bells grow still, their echoes die.

And in the thirst for your sweet face to keep,

To drink you up – as white as milk on high.

BEFORE THE SUNRISE

By Yasen Vedrin

(The Vine of Engadi)

“Open to me, my sister, my love, my dove, 

my undefiled: for my head is filled with dew, 

and my locks with the drops of the night.”

(Song of Solomon 5:2)

If dew should come to cover up my head

And night drops in my hair begin to gleam –

Along a path of sleeping skies I’ll tread,

To come to you upon the horse of dream.

Awakened now – please open wide the door.

More real than sleep, I’ll fold you in my space.

A burning ray from eastern shores will soar

To call us out into its wild embrace.

And in the flight to moments past compare,

Sparks will fade out in clicking horseshoes’ stride.

Follow me now! And let us burn and share

One Love that stands above all loves beside.

AN AMBER CALL

By Yasen Vedrin

(The Vine of Engadi)

“Thy lips, O my spouse, drop

as the honeycomb...”

(Song of Solomon 4:11)

Around me now the bees with passion hum,

They gather nectar from each tender sigh.

And to your lips my flying call has come,

To be your amber, prayed for from on high.

With gentle scents that flowers softly bear –

Become a fragrant shelter for my soul.

Poured out of love. Arrayed in sunny flare.

A dream that made the stars and sun a whole.

You smell of honey. Sweetness flows and rings

From all the trills your ringing voice can cast.

I would not ask what joy your fortune brings,

Because with you, the happy one am I at last.

GREENNESS SHALL FULFILL OUR YOUTH

By Yasen Vedrin

(The Vine of Engadi)

“Behold, thou art fair, my beloved,

yea, pleasant: also our bed is green.”

(Song of Solomon 1:16)

I do not try to hide the love we share,

For it blooms high and branches out unfurled.

And in the magic of its vibrant flare

A restless, wild wind spins us through the world.

When dreaming of you – in the grass I’d gaze

To watch a wild rose veil its modest grace.

A spark in sprays, a flame within a phrase

Of an unwhispered, sudden call we chase.

When touching you – a spring will soon adorn

Our souls with pristine leaves and tender shoots.

In one green bed – like ancient parables born –

Our youth shall fulfill us with its roots.

NORTH AND SOUTH

By Yasen Vedrin

(The Vine of Engadi)

“Awake, O north wind; and come, thou south…”

(Song of Solomon 4:16)

Northward whispers all your holiness,

Born of purest, snow-white crystal stone.

With a quiet prayer, in tenderness,

God bestowed you into worlds my own.

Southward – burns your joy within my soul.

In a gentle fire I dream and sway.

Grant me more of your warm laughter's toll

From your pupils’ warming magic ray.

Coming from the north – you are the south.

In a northward way our south is caught.

While the wind inside the chimney's mouth

Whispers how much we're each other's thought.

IMPRINTED WITHIN ME

By Yasen Vedrin
(The Vine of Engadi)

“Set me as a seal upon thine heart…”
(Song of Solomon 8:6)

Within my hands I hold your burning flame,
Sparks from your touch, and fire from your word.
A gem’s desire that no tongue can name.
A tablet for the senses yet unstirred.

Within my eyes I hold your sunset shore.
Upon the eyelids lies the magic crest.
Inside your pupils – starry strands that pour,
Like rainbows in the twilight, fully blest.

Within my heart I hold a song sublime.
A single love in melody and tone.
Be as a seal upon my dream and time –
Pure, holy till my final hour is known.

OPEN TO ME!

By Yasen Vedrin

(The Vine of Engadi)

“I rose up to open to my beloved…”

(Song of Solomon 5:5)

Open up this quiet door tonight,

Just as you open eyes to morning skies.

If the fire burns in you so bright –

You will consume entirely from its sighs.

I am your dream’s long-desired flame.

The last coal, lit in midnight’s dark domain.

Hot from the hearth’s anxiety and shame.

Stroked by your white hands to soothe the pain.

I chased the wind that crossed your path before.

The wind that sculpted all the sparks to glow.

Open to me, because forevermore

I was, and stay, the only one you know.

POUR ME INTO YOUR HEART!

By Yasen Vedrin

(The Vine of Engadi)

“Let him kiss me with the kisses of his mouth: 

for thy love is better than wine…”

(Song of Solomon 1:2)

In gentle sips come drink me with your affection,

I am not tart, yet shivers I can create.

If I am hidden – find me with devotion,

If you ignite me – wildly I will radiate.

The breath encounters no predetermined blame,

It drinks up every joy, and counts no score.

In aimless meanings searching for hope’s flame,

Drunk on the call – through kisses it will pour.

And somehow pre-designed by ancient wisdom,

It whispers words like drops of Holy Oil.

Pour me not in a glass or cup’s short freedom!

Into your heart, beloved, let me coil!

THE EVERLASTING VICTORY

By Yasen Vedrin

(The Copper Bowl)

It’s victory, if poor you stay inside,

Cursing the devil's traps and heavy vice.

Being the last in earthly goods and pride,

With no handful of greed to pay a price.

It’s victory, if kicked by all the crowd,

While worldly laughter scorns your holy soul,

Swallowing all the griefs beneath the cloud,

Yet keeping your bright, endless path whole.

It’s victory for your spirit to implore,

When evil through the worldly crisis roars,

To hug the naked people at your door,

With unfeigned sorrow that their eye outpours.

It’s victory, left with a fading might,

To crush down the titan of deceit,

As long as faith inside you kept alright

The sculpted Stone in God’s own hand complete.

It’s victory to bear the furnace flame,

Since God's own Holy Fire is more hot.

The Fourth One is your Prize, who came

To save you in the burning oven’s lot.

It’s victory inside the lions' den

For Peace to be your Shield and heavy wall,

While dogs of evil traps and wicked men

Are swallowed by a terror after all.

It’s victory to contemplate with pride

The Holy Castling, both by night and day –

For if the first falls down from built-up pride,

The last will be exalted from the clay…

And let your heart look closely on this sheet,

Not at the words, but Spirit they display:

Christ is the everlasting Victory, complete,

Above this world, by Evil snared away!

JUST ONE MORE DAY, MY BELOVED FRIEND!

By Yasen Vedrin

(The Copper Bowl)

Just one more day live for Christ and maintain,

Without thinking of years passed away,

For this world is enslaved by a villain's dark reign,

And black swarms plunder it every day.

Just one more day fill with kindness and grace,

With a smile touch the poor on your track.

If He knocks at your door in a sorrowful space,

Do not cause God to wait or turn back…

Just one more day let each word that is said

With the pulse of pure Righteousness glow,

For deceit has enticed many souls where they’re led,

Filling tongues with a weight of dark lead below.

Just one more day let your bright, holy tears

From your grief into prayers start to pour.

Maybe angels with them will destroy all the fears,

Driving villains away from your door.

Just one more day testify to the crowd

Of the Lord, who looks into your mind!

Just one more day let Him shine through the cloud!

Just one more day let His Love bless mankind!

For with days that His Covenant granted to give –

Even centuries shorten and fade,

But with Enoch's pure Spirit on high you will live,

Finding heights once the crossing is made.

Just one more day, my beloved friend! One!…

Let the Light through your soul start to gleam!

For the human was born of the Father and Sun,

Like a ray whole life living His dream.

THE GREAT MEANING

By Yasen Vedrin

(The Copper Bowl)

Whenever the son starts to serve as a slave,

Embracing the call of the Lord from on high,

His heart overflows under grief’s bitter wave,

Yet never he turns back to shadows gone by.

In children the Life is creating and beating,

And peace like a river is pouring ahead,

While someone inside the breached wall is depleting,

And drinks bitter cups in the fire he’s led.

The death of the servant is heavy a cost,

So that sons can feel Love in their peaceful estate.

A wall stands between them and all that was lost,

Protecting their souls from the wild winds of hate.

Concealed in existence, as lone as a cave,

The servant abides, keeping watch through the night.

And nobody knows what the lonely flame gave,

Or how much it cost in the Lord’s holy sight.

The branches are heavy with faith and with fruit,

While down at the Root is the offering's sign.

For this is the Meaning of Life, absolute –

The plus from the minus is born so divine.

And let the grand Fig tree be filled with a bow.

The Vine – let it hang with the heaviest weight.

Whenever the son as a servant obeys,

Then Christ is the human’s ultimate fate.

A SERVANT

By Yasen Vedrin

(The Copper Bowl)

No matter if starving or sated,

I follow my rainbow of light –

To leave all titles behind me,

With "servant", despised in their sight.

It’s ancient. Deprived of all gleaming.

Like garments of coarse, woollen thread.

With destiny through deserts streaming –

A hermit to all worlds and dead.

It washes the feet with meek grace,

Forgiving the sin in a prayer.

Though dead, it is live in this place.

A crumb for the hungry to share.

This word collects treasures and stores

Not inside the banks and trezors.

Beyond the Golgotha it soars,

Defeating all pain and oppressors.

Prepared it remains to keep whole

Its lot before Pilate’s grim court.

No hatred can darken its soul.

No palace can change its report.

It suffers the scourges and spite,

Even crowns made of thorns and of dread.

It fears no grave in the night,

Nor arrows that strike mortals dead.

This word desires no crown from high.

It dreams of no power or throne.

With just four sharp nails in the sky

They grant its final hour, alone.

And even if I walk alone

In worlds ruled by madness and cries –

The Savior declares from His throne:

"In you I have ruled from the skies!

For servants reflect the Great King,

Who walked in this world filled with sin.

To love, to burn bright, and to bring

His Blood to redeem you within!

No matter if starving or sated,

Come follow my thorny, steep track.

Not titles and glory inflated,

But My Spirit brought your life back..."

FOR THE LAST CALL OF ADAM

By Yasen Vedrin

(Mortal Remains)

Even if I distribute all I own –

The earth will stay with poor men in its space.

For somewhere there the poverty is grown,

Because the faith was sowed in hollow space.

And my heart suffers, mourning in deep grief,

Because the human does not seek the Lord,

And wretched destinies cry for relief –

Hungry, sick, barefooted, by time ignored.

About a tree planted by rivers deep

The truthful, holy Words remind me now –

How Heaven watches over those who weep,

And cares for all the living to endow.

How in that generous and Holy Hand

No single soul is left in need and pain.

But nowadays across this earthly land,

The Maker mourns, forgotten and in vain.

The poverty is just a hollow space.

It weaves a spiderweb through human souls.

The thirsty dry mouth suffers in this place,

But never asks for Springs to make it whole.

It will dry out before the death will rise.

It will shrink up without a single drop.

And if the poor man sees it with his eyes,

With his last strength away from it he'll hop.

And giving back his spirit to the High,

With quiet grief he’ll tell the Lord at last:

"I wandered dead beneath this heavy sky,

Without Your Life to hold my spirit fast!

For destiny without You is despair.

The world turns everything to nothing down.

Grant me Your Spirit, hear my final prayer,

Before the earth returns into the ground…"

This verse for hope I offer to your mind,

And may it crush the hollow space and sin –

For the last call of Adam and mankind

To the One Father, reigning from within.

FROM THE CRADLE TO THE GRAVE

By Yasen Vedrin

(The Pearl Seeker)

Carried within a mother’s womb so deep,

A mortal man is born into this space,

And from the cradle to the grave we creep,

Advancing slowly in our aging pace.

He learns the gentleness of tight embraces,

And feels his father's blessing and his care,

Drinking pure drafts of joy from many places,

Prepared for new delights that time may bear.

In youth, he rejoices in his health and might,

Within a heart that beats with strength so bold,

And he becomes a shelter in the night

For a fragile baby body he can hold.

He whistles through his fate with happy mind,

For it appears a horizon with no end,

And every future fortune he can find

Feels like a piece of heaven to descend.

But once he reaches the determined crest,

He starts to fade under the sorrow’s weight,

Because his age has stolen from his chest

The burning spark that made his fire great.

The hair turns grey beneath the silver light,

In its quiet, sunset shadow of decay,

And it’s too late for glory and for might,

In life so weary, pained along the way.

Yet a great miracle could still unroll

In some unique, irreplaceable sign,

If man decides to educate his soul,

Like Nicodemus from the old design…

In times of darkness and of anxious dread,

With living faith within his chest reborn,

He understood that even from the dead

An old man can be born into the morn…

Carried within God's womb, a saint is born,

To enter this wide world of sin and shame,

To fight the raging malice and the thorn

With all the Power of Love’s holy flame.

And on a path – from Alpha to Omega, true,

With eyes awake, standing on watchful post,

To enter crucified the Ark anew,

Of the resurrected Christ, our Heavenly Host.

This is the greatest Wisdom and the flame,

Which I can offer for your soul to keep –

To let the heart of human call the Name,

Shouting to Last Adam through the deep.

For earthly life is short, a brief design,

But the Eternal leaves its holy trace

In the most wonderful and fresh outline,

Born of the Living Water and His Grace.

MY EARTHLY SHELL!

By Yasen Vedrin

(Mortal Remains)

My earthly shell, so sorrowfully broken,

You stay as flesh, even through all your pain.

My red blood moves in you, a human token,

But other Blood restores my heart again.

To another Life my spirit now is turning,

And Holy are my thoughts of Endless grace,

While you resemble houses built of yearning –

A house a snail drags through time and space.

My earthly shell, I cannot yield or cover

This wide, materialistic world for thee.

I live with anxious worries hovering over –

That Adam’s ancient self in you I see.

That I must fight him with my Faith to bound him,

Until he humbles to his destiny's call.

So that my Heavenly desire around him

May light a fire to consume it all.

My earthly shell, so fragile and so breaking,

To mortal dust you walk your fated mile.

No long-term perspective can you be making,

And wrinkles bring no honor to your smile.

But when our sudden parting comes to wake us,

I want you quiet in the future sleep.

For with a faithful spirit you could make us

Walk long, before it flies into the deep.

My earthly shell! A boat for ocean spaces,

Which I have rowed until I reached the shore.

You stay as memory in my heart's embraces –

With you I was a dreamer evermore.

But comes the hour to leave you in the shadows,

After the many years that aged my mind,

Like pearls from mussels on the ocean meadows,

The Sky will lift me… Radiant and refined!

AN OPEN BOOK

By Yasen Vedrin

(Pearl Seeker)

The deaf can see me, but they do not hear.

The blind can hear me, but they cannot see.

The fleshly rage with malice and with fear.

The weak offend in helpless misery.

Between the anvil and the hammer's blow,

I bear the heavy strikes that time has brought.

I do not judge the fallen here below.

The fading light I have not quenched or fought.

I wear no mask upon my human face,

And ask no share of someone else's fame.

If I lack bread – I'll seek the Father’s grace.

If I possess – no surplus keeps my name.

I do not hold the debts that humans owe,

And seek no speck within a brother’s eye.

I pay for all my errors as I go,

And swallow bitter cups without a sigh.

The secrets of my life I have unbound –

How to be full or starve within the shade.

The freezing ones my warming fire found.

The poor received the offering I made.

I do not mourn, on dunghills cast away,

And do not flinch, a target in the night.

I have my Faith, my Hearth along the way!

I have my Sun, my Universe so bright!

If I’m a traveler – the Path will end.

If I’m a wretch – it’s only for a space.

Let what is written now on me descend!

Let what is sought accept me in its grace!

The fate is wondrous. Like a song it flies.

Its music notes by Someone Else are penn'd.

I did not live for easy, carefree skies,

But for the Cross that did from heaven descend.

And in this world, this is enough for me.

The earned interest is up there, high above.

Inside my soul, the Open Book, you see –

The Lord is reading it with smiles of love…

A POOR MAN’S LITTLE FINGER

By Yasen Vedrin

(The Copper Bowl)

If a wealthy man fails to extend

His full hand to the poor and outspread,

Let him keep in his mind till the end

The poor man's little finger instead.

It is always so humble and low.

The last finger that stands on the hand.

But by Words of the Lord made to grow,

It has strength for the Cross to withstand.

"How a pinky? What speak you, O man?" –

A rich master would ask with a sneer:

"I have followed the Christ and His plan,

And my faith is both burning and clear!"

Well, recall the full drama and dread,

How deep down in the hell's burning heat,

The rich man called to Abraham's bed

For some comfort and coolness so sweet…

To send Lazarus, saved by His Grace,

With a drop on his finger to go –

That same wretch who in life’s earthly space

Found no honor or holy trace below.

But beyond, their two destinies flipped.

Each inherited what God had blessed.

And the poor man, no longer ill-equipped,

Found his place on Abraham's breast.

While the rich man, in torment and flame,

With a burning thirst called to his mind,

That with hearts hard as stones without shame,

He had left his own Heaven behind…

Oh, if only once more he could live,

To return there before he would die,

All the joy that the Heaven can give

In that pinky he’d long for and cry.

But that finger in hell can’t be found,

And a chasm divides it from grace.

His whole life was a lie, fully bound,

And forever it hurts in that place…

So I tell you right now, master dear,

To be rich in good deeds for the Lord.

For your life will soon fade and appear

Like a dream and a swift arrow poured.

Now’s the day to open your hand.

By tomorrow your pathway may stop.

And the Covenant aim in the land

Is this finger with one single drop…

DOLOROSA IS THE PATHWAY!

By Yasen Vedrin

(The Bird Within You)

Though I bow my grey head, full of sorrow and lines,

I abide with the Lord, as His Cross and decree.

Dolorosa is the Path… And it trembles and shines

In my verse born of pain. To the end it will be.

I will probably suffer from the time I have spent,

For the world wasn't won, and no medal I hold.

But why do I need brilliance, when it’s earthly and bent,

Gathering the praise of the mud, vain and cold?

Pilate loves himself now. And Barabbas they raise.

The conscience is washed in the bowl of a king.

I do not want a crown, and I scratch for no praise,

But I pray for my strength till the last day will ring.

Monte Carlo I avoid. And Dubai is no dream.

A too cheap of a snare for the flesh of mankind.

Mount Olivet calls me. Galilee sends its gleam,

And Christ is my Faith, and the Path that I find.

Just to carry one Cross will be a wonder alone,

For which a hundred long years of pure grief are well worth.

I have nothing that’s earthly, but the Lord is my own.

More precious than goods, dearer than life on this earth.

And I pray not with words, but with faith burning high:

God, grant me to walk with Your Son till I die!

Dolorosa is the Path! Dolorosa is the Gift!

And Golgotha is Meaning, the last Gate He will lift!

Let me pass through that Gate. Like a peak without time!

Like a Heavenly Song that my spirit once sang!

And then I will be clothed with Jesus, sublime –

Not in vain was I born, not in vain my life rang…

SUNK DOWN LIKE A STONE

(A poetic memory of the movie that shook 

my heart with the Spirit of the message below)

By Yasen Vedrin
(The Pearl Seeker)

Whenever Titanic in its pride
Slam-crashes into hills of ice,
While worlds with hate and bans inside
Are seized by fury and by vice,

Within your heart keep a white rose,
And guard it there, alive and bright,
Even when threats and danger close
From freezing waves within the night.

You’ll probably stay down inside
A third-class cabin, foul and grey,
With no fine company at side,
With rum and chocolate on display,

Yet still, the spring of Love will flow,
And you will be like Jack tonight,
Prepared to call to Rose below,
In casual tuxedo dressed so bright.

The world will break and split in two
From iron plates of heavy size.
The wealthy man won't dry for you
A single tear within his eyes.

Not even a life-saving vest
Will save his soul from what is won,
If he prefers what greed confessed –
To grace a marriage with a stone.

But for your rose of purest white,
Fight on until your final breath,
For if it saves its holy light –
You’ve won the sky above the death.

And even, mortal midst the tide,
Sunk down into the freezing sea,
The highest heavens, opened wide,
Will pull you to the stars to be.

Whenever Titanic in its pride
Slam-crashes into hills of ice –
Let just one single Love abide,
It has the Covenant's high price.

And its divine, eternal flame
Marks Heaven's gates with what is true:
The one who sunk like stones of shame,
Arises, shining in the blue!

A LOVE AT THIRTY-THREE!

By Yasen Vedrin

(Pearl Seeker)

With passing years, a man begins to age,

And time can never push its shadows back.

All that remains upon the history's page

Permits no twist or turning of the track.

But still, my burning spirit shines and free

With a pure Love that stands at thirty-three.

Without a doubt, this human life will end,

Pre-drawn for all the mortals here below.

Born like a stream that beautiful descend,

Into the ocean it will finally flow.

And there, may God reward it, wild and free,

With a pure Love that stands at thirty-three.

To be so young is transient, fleeting joy,

For just a moment pleasing every sense.

Even the arrow, flying like a toy,

Falls down from skies, failing its high defense.

Yet a great dream could rule and reign with glee

With a pure Love that stands at thirty-three.

Each dying seed is resurrected, born,

When sacrificed inside its dark clay womb.

Choosing Eternity instead of being torn,

With breaths from Eden, far beyond the tomb.

Because inside, it fully will decree

A pure Love that stands at thirty-three.

The life appears before the human eye,

Like a great wonder with a spirit unknown.

Three different parts connect beneath the sky –

A child, a youth, an old man grey and lone.

Yet only in one part does Spirit flee

Like a pure Love that stands at thirty-three.

Of all the men upon this earthly ground –

God gave us One – to shine with holy light.

He carried all our guilt, in chains unbound,

To purchase us, forgiving in the night.

And on the Cross, He won the victory

With a pure Love that stands at thirty-three.

Go follow Him, to Covenant be true,

And He will show you heights you've never known.

With Him you'll shine like comets in the blue,

While darkness flees from where your light is thrown.

So in the end, it will enlighten thee –

A pure Love that stands at thirty-three.

THE LEGEND OF THE NAKED TRUTH

By Yasen Vedrin

(The Pearl Seeker)

A ancient legend let me tell,

About the Truth within our land.

Like paintings in Hermitage dwell,

She drew all hearts into her hand.

She was enchantingly so fair,

Dressed in a veil of golden light.

Wise, filled with truth beyond compare,

An ideal, pure, and Holy bright.

A sister she possessed, though low,

Rejected, with no roof or home.

Her eyes held heaviness and woe,

Her heart – no Holy Law to own.

From all her words, so strangely wrong,

The human spirits lost their spark.

No happiness could move along,

When meeting her grim face and dark.

They called her Lie in ancient days,

And drove her to the forest deep.

No one would trust her crooked ways,

Or give their soul for her to keep.

"O sister! – cried the Lie aloud –

Pour some fresh water in my jar.

My lips are dry beneath this cloud,

My fading heart is parched so far.

Go down into the well, my dear,

And scoop up just two palms for me,

For I am parched with thirst and fear,

And I may die here, as you see.

Take off your golden, radiant dress.

Most carefully I'll guard it now,

And silver water from recess

Give me to drink, to fulfill my vow…"

Confused, the Holy Truth withdrew

A single step in doubt and dread,

For words of cold, untruthful view

From Lie’s dark lips were quickly spread.

But still, her wretched sister there

She looked upon with love so deep,

And with a childlike, naive care,

Accepted her text for to keep.

Into the well she went, unclad,

Holding a jar within her hand.

And thus her heart was pierced and sad,

The gentle Truth across the land.

Her sister in the golden gown

Fled deep into that ancient wood,

And like an actress in the town,

Made all the world misobserved, withstood.

They trusted her – both old and young,

And placed her high upon a throne,

To hear the speeches from her tongue,

And trample God’s Law, left alone.

And naked, Holy Truth until this day,

Whispers, rejected by the crowd,

While only in a few she stays,

Trembling with rays beneath the cloud.

A CROWN UPON A HOLY HEAD

By Yasen Vedrin

(The Bird Within You)

Like a motive, precise and defined,

True in text, though interpreted rarely,

The sharp crown made of thorns intertwined

On Christ’s Head in the art I see clearly.

And I’m filled with a sorrowful word,

From the heavy, dark questions arriving:

Did this Head, of my Savior and Lord,

Deserve exactly this crown for surviving?

Is it not the true symbol of shame

Of an epoch of blindness and hating?

Blackest thorns to my God shall I name,

When on cross my own "self" is abating?

Who will reach out his hands in deep grief,

To tell God with a humble emotion:

"Since Your Love died for my own relief,

Give me all of the thorns with devotion!

Let me feel all the sorrow and loss!

Let this malice pierce into my spirit!

But for You – a crown woven from moss

And sweet flowers will shed all its merit.

May You dwell in the joy of the field!

In delight of the Myrrh and the scent!

And let Heaven's Eden be unsealed,

Making joys for You never be spent…

Your great Mind, ever Holy and high,

Well deserves a bright, radiant crown.

But the thorns – they are mine till I die,

To find hope where Your Throne is set down.

Let me carry this wreath of dismay,

Just as You on Golgotha have borne!

And the heavens above me will stay,

So my spirit implores You, reborn…"

This deep faith has been burning for long,

Lighting fires of truth in my chest.

No sharp thorn can disrupt my clear song,

Nor the godless who put me to test.

I’ve a Holy blue sky far above!

I’ve a King in the Heavenly Story!

And a Crown on a Head full of love

Lights up Zion in gold-shining Glory!

DESTINY IN THE RIGHT PLACE

By Yasen Vedrin

(The Copper Bowl)

The Word of God is true and upright,

And let it be to all made clear:

Either a goat on left in twilight,

Or sheep on right with Him draw near!

The time will come for King's decreeing,

To call to mind His words of old,

And over all of human being

The fateful, heavy judge unfold.

To tell the sheep with faithful voice:

"Come here, most blessed ones, rejoice!

With Love your giving hands were burning

In years of cold and bitter yearning.

For most essential food and living

The wretched soul was sowed in giving.

The King was never left unfed,

And never thirsty on His bed!

You clothed Him with a garment warm,

And visited His prison storm.

You were His comfort, pure and bright,

His Holy Bride in fields of light…"

To tell the goats with angry face:

"Depart from Me, accursed race!

For you have horns that have been driven

Into the hands that King was given!

You turned My Bread into a stone.

You sold My blessings as your own.

And let the hellish fire and flame

Be your harsh sentence and your shame.

For midst your flock the King has met

No Mercy and no Grace as yet,

But like a dog you drove Him out,

Across the earth with hate and shout…"

What wailing cry will start to rise

After the King's true words and sighs?

Volcanoes made of wrath will shatter

The barren, blackened hearts that chatter.

The pit of hell will open wide

To swallow all of them inside,

For pathways to the shining space

Are never made for goats to trace…

But in a Heavenly Flash, the True

Will see Eternal borders view,

Where Lord remains their song and light,

And Spirit fills their robes of white.

Because each mortal will receive

A destiny that fits their grace.

Either a goat on left to grieve,

Or sheep on right in the right place…