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.