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.
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