QUESTIONS TO THE HEATHEN!

By Yasen Vedrin

(Mortal Remains)

What shall your spirit do, when all is through,

And when the Gate is shut and closed from view?

Will you find comfort in that bitter hour,

Amidst the shrieks of malice, hate, and fear?

Why live your life in selfish, narrow ways,

To reach a mad and tragic end of days?

Without a single thought of what you reap,

While your own heart drags chains in darkness deep?

The Good and Evil, seemingly so plain,

Now blur into a dangerous, dark domain.

And you are tricked within a cunning show,

A spectacle you never wished to know.

Will anyone bring back the time gone by,

To let him slumber carefree, without sigh,

While God is bound to make his pathway bright,

And keep him happy, free from sorrow's blight?

Why is it always far too late to mend,

When all that's pure is filthy in the end?

And Holy Golgotha, the final care,

For the blind sinner in his mortal lair?

Why, oh why? This slumber is like a tomb,

Where human destinies are sunk in gloom.

If Christ should knock, no answer will be heard,

For inside dwells a loud and worldly herd.

What shall your spirit do, when life is past?

Will it defeat the darkness at the last?

Will it look up to Justice, old and true,

Where God reveals His Word and Faith to you?

With Love I charge you – pass the Gate today!

Not tomorrow, nor on some imagined day!

But today, right now, for God is waiting here,

To rebuke the killer lurking in the dark!

THE CLOCK OF THIS WORLD

By Yasen Vedrin

(Mortal Remains)

The clock of this blind world is ticking fast.

Its spring is almost fully unwound now.

No power given to the dark can last,

Or turn the hands forever with a bow.

A moment comes when time itself will end

Exactly at the ordered, sacred date,

The scream of startled corpses will ascend

To herald all the judgments of God's fate.

The glittering grand palaces will fade.

The pompous elite will shiver in surprise.

Their sin will seek for advocates and aid,

But no one will forgive them or their lies.

The cheap and dirty glory of the thief

Will turn into a filthy, ragged space,

When the Grand Judge demands, in their belief,

What goods they stole from paupers in disgrace.

In nightmares, like a fate that cannot bend,

A retribution over Evil will strike,

Because the hell takes its own in the end,

While it screams out in horror, ghost-like…

The clock of this blind world is ticking fast.

Its hands are crawling closer to midnight.

The earth will wait for justice at the last,

With chasms between luxury and plight.

And may this Moment, this fateful earthquake,

Descend upon my spirit soon to heal —

For guiltless in God, yet guilty for world’s sake,

Living almost like on a Cross, I feel…

LIFE IS A CHOICE!

By Yasen Vedrin

(Mortal Remains)

Life is a choice, and everyone chooses

Whom to believe in, and whose steps to trace.

We live but once, and once a soul loses,

And faith in its battles bleeds in this space.

Within the eternal, swift rush of the hour,

The heart drifts away with its beats and its strain.

To sigh from a call, to catch breath and power,

Preserving its target and hot fiery flame.

Life is a choice. And with it, fate traces

A portrait so true for the Faithful to claim —

A crown of sharp thorns that pierces and paces,

A chalice of wine with the Spirit and Name.

Traces left high on the steep, rugged highway,

Lit by the generous rays of the Skies,

And sorrows with roots from twenty-century's byway,

Marking the cheekbones and wide-awake eyes.

Life is the choice that happens to settle

Only but once, through the spirit or flesh.

It either breaks loose, or catches its metal,

But always arrives at the final edge, fresh…

So let the wise man make choices with care.

For heavy and light, a price must be paid…

The guilt looking up is washed by Blood there,

The guilt looking down… remains guilt unswayed!

THE UNFULFILLED SEED

By Yasen Vedrin

(Mortal Remains)

The unfulfilled seed aches inside,

After the bright and pouring rain.

The sower takes a breath, to stride,

And sows a Call across the plain.

And with full Faith he hopes anew,

That it will sprout both here and there,

So that within hard soil, true,

The grain will find a spark to share.

The time of grace flows, running fast,

From two pierced hands, wounded and deep,

But does it yield a hundredfold at last —

The heart that sunlit glances keep?

What kind of sorrow brings it fear?

What weed torments it with its guile,

If it cannot give back, sincere,

The Heavenly Gift, with even a smile?

The sower skips each mournful plea,

With many seeds upon the track,

For it is only God, we see,

Who bears human guilt upon His back.

And he will go on sowing wide

His Covenant around the land,

Even if freezing cold outside

Laps selfish human earth and sand.

The moment comes when from his sack

The final seed he will bestow,

And beaten by his fateful track,

In deep humility, kneel low.

He sowed unutterable words, defined

By the Comforter, pure and Blest,

But stumbled into winters blind,

And human chill struck down his chest.

What of it? He at least has tried,

His holy duty didn't freeze,

But with a Faith, open and wide,

He sought to rescue souls with ease.

An unfulfilled, lone seed is left

To ache within the sower’s care,

And today's cruel time, bereft,

Is like Golgotha everywhere…

COMFORT FOR THE OUTSIDER

By Yasen Vedrin

(Mortal Remains)

Do not lament, when failing to succeed,

You find yourself within this gloomy space.

The throne of winners is corrupt, indeed,

Its price is like a stench of dark disgrace.

Only the hunchbacks rule the earth tonight,

With glances fixed upon their paradise.

After their heavy bows to snake in sight,

They curl up tight, forever paid by vice.

No one lifts up their head to God above,

By earthly treasures frozen and confined,

And everyone drags chains, devoid of love,

In which their captived spirit stays resigned.

And who is then the one we should deplore,

When viewed beyond the final, silent gate?

The purchased glory fades forevermore,

With cunning conscience kept for judgment's fate.

So powerful are the iron bars that bind

The fallen souls the prince of darkness holds,

That open fields make paupers glad to find

The freedom from the cash and power molds.

To be an outsider just means, indeed,

That you already stand on other tracks,

And you have no misfortunes left to bleed

From bowing down to Satan on your backs.

For the prince gives, but later takes it back…

Deceived — the souls become his final part

In deep abysses, invisible and black

For those who lived with sin inside their heart.

For this blind world condemns to banishment

The ones over whom it has no power or reign…

While others — with a Judas noose intent —

Are harvest for the ultimate villain's gain.

LOVE SEES NO GUILT, IN ALL BELIEVING

By Yasen Vedrin

(Mortal Remains)

Love sees no guilt, in all believing.

So innocent. Bright-trusting, whole.

Yet down below, instead of drinking

The sweetest nectar, grief fills its soul.

The hands prepared for warm embraces,

Are bitten by hyenas’ spite.

While audience turns back their faces,

And lock cold doors into the night.

The good man from naivety suffers,

By hypocrites tripped on his way.

Expecting love for what he offers —

With heaps of hate he’s paid today.

And somehow, with an ancient lesson,

He understands, as time goes by,

If faith is what he puts his stress on,

He must look closer with his eye…

For he would quickly gather many,

When stretching palms with gifts to share.

But then drinks wormwood, with no penny,

Wounded by blind thoughts everywhere.

Why, Love, are you so unprotected,

Like silk lace, fragile to the touch?

You give yourself to be perfected,

Before you have received so much…

And if a plea from you arises,

By muddy splashes it’s denied,

Even if with the shirt he prizes

The lover clothes the world outside…

You are a price, for which, in sorrow,

The saint pays for the Heavens high.

To be a pearl in swamp tomorrow,

Or a lone fig tree in fields nearby.

To be a bread, till last crumb eaten,

And wine, to very final drop.

Passing a test, severe and beaten,

Through Holy Heavenly sieve to stop.

And there, before the Lord’s own Altar,

Reflected in live words to weave…

Love sees no guilt, and will not falter.

So innocent. Bright-trusting, to believe.

THE MOVIE HAS BEEN WATCHED BEFORE…

By Yasen Vedrin

(Mortal Remains)

The movie has been watched before,

To the very last blink of our space.

So, hold on to your hope and ignore

The sorrow that weighs on your face.

On the bright, wise and heavenly screen

See yourself in the times that have passed.

For when nailed to the Cross you are seen —

God will come for your spirit at last.

And out there, it will no longer sting,

Nor the crown of sharp thorns will oppress…

Lift your eyes to the Father and King —

Eternity waits on the threshold to bless.

The movie has been watched before.

There is nothing brand new under sun.

But when late drops of rain stop to pour,

This cruel, heavy drama is done.

To yourself you will say: "I survived

Through the fears of this terrible age.

In the palm of the Lord I was held,

To discover His Love on the stage.

With sufferings, the Chalice I drained,

And in dreams tasted comfort so deep.

In His Covenant Eternal I stayed,

My Heavenly garment to keep."

The movie is ending… I hope I am bound!

I pray that in Him I will wake!

By the Call of Christ captured and found —

The Heavenly gates I will take…

COMFORT FOR THE STRANGER

By Yasen Vedrin

(Mortal Remains)

“I am a stranger in the earth…” (Psalm 119:19)

When you are just a stranger in the earth,

And like a foe, the world casts you aside,

A Holy hope remains your only worth —

That Your true Home awaits across the tide.

That there, all painful wounds will deeply heal,

And no more evil will oppress the soul,

Instead of ravens, crows, and what they feel,

A White Dove will fly high, to make you whole.

The massive, heavy weariness compiles,

Just like a mountain, impossible to bear,

Everywhere among the human files

To meet the queen of evil and despair.

And king of sin among the lost to roam,

With crowns from Sodom, rebel and unkept,

While faith, so hardened in its worldly home,

Grieves for the Heaven where it hasn't slept.

Deep down inside the chalice, dark and plain,

The poison starts to pour, a heavy flood,

The evil stirs it with a sharp clawed chain,

To throw you down and freeze your human blood…

But this blind world is not your homeland space,

And flesh is not where final fates arise.

A moment comes for spirit’s resting place

Near the most wonderful and Holy Light of skies.

And up above, the battle ends its art,

What’s written inside you will take its throne,

For when Eternity receives the stranger's heart,

The pain will stop, and leave the soul alone…

O, LUCKY MAN!

By Yasen Vedrin

(Mortal Remains)

To the lucky I say: Be content,

But remember this Truth, so unseen!

Every spirit left traces and went,

So that hearts could be captured between.

A rich man will tell you: "I lived,

And my blessings were wonderful, bright!

No sin in my soul was perceived,

Nor a shadow of Horned One in sight..."

O, you vain and you weak advocate

Of the deeds that the Lord hates to find!

Satan’s hidden! He watches, in wait,

While temptations are piled up ahead, blind!

Only one who is warmed by the sun,

Casts a shadow when stopping the rays...

But the fool, by his self-greed undone,

Seems alive, yet he dies in his ways.

It’s not scary, when broken and down,

To be tortured by dramas so old.

"Ah, what happens when I am not around,

There, out there, when my body grows cold?

Which spirit will reach out a hand,

To reclaim a captured heart’s space?

Was I, God, by Your river and land?

Did I sow Your own Seed in its place?

Did You mark Your traces in me,

Or the dark one left his first sign?

Who reigns in my chest, to be free,

And won't leave this spirit of mine?"

O, lucky man! Look at the word!

Rarely spoken by spirit or mouth!

The most beautiful prestige inferred

Is to love Christ with all of your youth.

And accumulating dreams for His part,

With full Faith to lay down your own key,

Only then will he whisper with heart:

"In me, God, Your own traces You'll see!"

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.

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!