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!"

THE CALL OF FAITH

By Yasen Vedrin

(The Copper Bowl)

Come down from above, Dear Lord!

In a poor man's clothes arrive!

See then who with one accord

In Your holy steps will strive!

Who will warm the pauper’s heart

With a shirt, a coin, or bread,

And with timid love, apart,

Call himself Your slave instead!

Look, Most Holy Judge and Guide,

How the wolves the pastures keep,

And with cursed feet, in pride,

Muddy waters for the sheep.

Greedy men before You pray,

Yet Mammon is in their mind.

How they twist false hands today

For the hollow groans they find?

Where is Your poor widow now

With her final mites, so small?

Did she vanish from the plow

Like a stray dog chased by all?

Come down, Eternal God, to stay!

Bring Your Justice from above!

For in heartless years today,

Evil crushed the souls we love.

Kindness is a wanderer now,

Finding every door is closed.

For Your Comfort, with a bow,

Mournful faith its prayer composed.

Hear it, God of Mercy, hear!

Let Christ now return again!

And save hearts, in Spirit dear,

From all malice, grief, and pain.

THE BLIND MAN'S PRAYER

By Yasen Vedrin

(The Copper Bowl)

Blind to malice and to human plight,

Blind to furies, spits, and insults cast,

Tapping with my cane into the night,

With timid steps I venture out at last.

All my life a prayer I have cleared,

Hoping God would somehow find a way —

With pure faith to make my eyelids healed,

Turning into miracles my clay.

To open eyes and see the world arise.

The sun, the heaven, and the stars above.

To feel the grace that in the spirit lies,

And warm my chest with fire and with love.

Perhaps from deep within all human eyes,

Kindness always glances, soft and clear.

And from their depths, bright sunbeams always rise,

While man holds another human dear.

Lord, will You arrive? Please let me know!

In Your sweet mercy heal my broken sight!

This blindness is a heavy weight and woe,

And for You, the miracle is light!

But if, healed in Siloam, I should see,

Won't my spirit suffer even more?

"O, blind man! Do not grieve or bow your knee!

Your blindness is a gift, a prize in store!"

SEEK FOR THE LIVING SAINT!

By Yasen Vedrin

(The Copper Bowl)

“My little children, let us not love in word, 

neither in tongue; but in deed and in truth...” 

(1 John 3:18)

If poverty should hunt you down,

With overflowing grief, like streams,

Seek for the living saint around,

To hold your hand and build your dreams...

For with no candle, with no light,

And even with no prayerful plea,

With his two glowing eyes and bright,

He would give Love to make you free.

He’d strip away his only shirt

To warm a freezing back with flame,

For Christ Himself steps through the dirt,

To build a Temple in his name.

He’d open up his purse with grace,

And with his very final cent,

He would embrace the poor man’s space

With comfort that the Heavens sent.

He’d break his final piece of bread —

To put a Strength in those who fail,

And it stays true, whatever’s said,

When God makes joyful hearts prevail.

An angel for our daily need,

With fiery wings spread wide above.

With him — you are embraced, indeed,

Not just in words, but deeds of Love...

THE GOOD MAN

By Yasen Vedrin

(The Copper Bowl)

The good man, I tell you, is like a raindrop.

He will blend with the rest in a stream.

With a warm coat to share, and a bite not to stop,

To be God’s helping hand in a dream.

The good man, I tell you, has no gold in the bank.

No chauffeur drives his car down the line.

But within his own life, not of wealthiest rank,

Sunlit glances from his eyes always shine.

The good man, I tell you, can never be broken.

A tough branch is his spirit for years.

If he trusts an idea, by deeds it is spoken.

And succeeds... the good man through his tears.

The good man, I tell you, when giving, won’t lose.

By self-interest he’s never restrained.

In deep mercy for life, it is love he will choose,

With no tax for the deeds he sustained.

The good man, I tell you, is sowing his seeds.

He won't turn his eyes back to the past.

If a drop is still missing to answer our needs —

He will pour it, and streams will flow fast...

The good man, I tell you, needs no power or might.

He is power himself. Impulse, alive.

Even if his own fate should grow dark as the night —

In his faith he will happily thrive.

The good man, I tell you, inside me rejoices.

And awakes within you too, right now?

For the brightest of meanings, in all human voices,

Is to stop every pain with a bow.

THE RETURNEE

By Yasen Vedrin

(Pearl Seeker)

I do not fear to fade away alone

Amidst the snowdrifts of a winter’s night.

For fate is beautiful, in ways its own,

Even beyond the final line in sight.

And even if unjust it may appear,

It follows its own providential theme.

Life comes, and then it leaves this earthly sphere,

And every breath is but a drop in stream.

One person dies, another comes to birth.

The torch is passed by bloodlines. With Olympus.

And laurel? It is not chosen on this earth,

But sits like halos on the heads that window us.

If I can just ignite a tiny spark,

The fire will continue when I’m gone.

Why should I mourn my ending in the dark,

Or let unfulfilled yearnings weigh me down?

How long does a footprint left behind

Tremble upon the waves before it dies?

Forgot, it vanishes into the blind

Oblivion where the water columns rise.

And only he who seeks will ever find

The treasure that another gave away —

Even if lost chimeras of the mind,

In which he lived or didn't yesterday...

The world is not the ultimate, sole cause

Of all the things that happened to occur.

Before I leave it, bound by nature's laws,

I want no things for me, I do aver.

For when I cross that final, silent sill —

I am a returnee out there, no less?

Only then, let my weeping eyes fulfill

The grief that can no longer hurt or press...

A CAUSE

By Yasen Vedrin

(Pearl Seeker)

I do not look for proofs in theorems' design,

I have no scheduled hour to see a shrink.

The friendships that are fake dissolve in time,

With no regret or worry on the brink.

I do not want with useless, blind illusions

To fill up every corner of my space.

If I should trip — I bleed from cold contusions,

But I am always there, in time and place.

With that so necessary, calm apathy,

I skip past every card that Vanity deals.

I don't debate with the devil's attorney,

I trust the deeds before the words he feels.

And somehow, as a stoic by definition,

Stretched out from Marcus Aurelius to Seneca's line,

I am not tortured by this long transition

Along this unending, deep path of mine.

I chose it to be far from worldly glory.

Even the laurel branches dry and fade.

The crooked and the straight share the same story,

When scratching for a rusted crown self-made.

The meaningful — by many still undetected —

I will preserve for travelers behind.

To be a giver of virtues, well-protected —

What higher cause could my own ego find?

THE CLASSICS WITH QUILLS

By Yasen Vedrin

(Pearl Seeker)

High up above — where birds alone are soaring —

I love to drift, on widespread wings sustained.

To lead a talk with classics, while exploring

The timeless traces that in me remained.

There Dostoevsky with his Karamazovs I will meet,

And Gogol with his dead souls I will find.

They humble down my ego at Christ's feet,

When heavy grief leaves all my joy behind.

Tolstoy will wrap me in Resurrection's light,

And Pushkin with Onegin will shine clear.

While down below — with sword and fire bright —

The world will hiss with bitter rage and fear.

With Chekhov’s prose my loneliness I’ll heal,

Yesenin will become my haven white.

And Lermontov’s young passion I will feel,

Blending my sorrow with a pure delight.

And this vast Russia — grand, with leaves unspun,

With its white birches, lakes of crystal gleam —

When I would ask it: "What is Truth, under the sun?" —

I look to classics with their quills supreme...

MY FRIEND!

By Yasen Vedrin

(Pearl Seeker)

My friend! My D’Artagnan, so true and fast!

If I were Dumas, I would write your glory.

Our life is a fateful novel till the last,

And everyone breathes in to read its story.

I will not look for faith in Richelieu.

The cunning cardinal I fully banish.

Instead of silk-clad power, false and new,

You are enough for muddy paths to vanish.

With just a sword — for honor's sake alone!

With just an oath — for glory, pure and high!

A support yesterday, today a stone —

The friend remains forever, standing by!

Now one for all! And all for one, indeed!

No other motto could my soul desire!

Even with a cup of wormwood in my need,

To drink a loyal toast, fate tuned my lyre.

My friend! My D’Artagnan, so dear to me!

I hope to be your Athos in this space!

While Porthos and Aramis, wild and free,

With yearning share my high and heavenly grace!

CITY LIGHTS

By Yasen Vedrin

(Freezing Point)

She will look with her eyes full of light

At the world, so unfamiliar, apart.

And you — keep your silence in night,

That no one can love your own heart.

If you just reach your hand to extend —

How can one lonely heart be achieved?

Will the small candlelight in the end

Be in bright neon flashes perceived?

Will the delicate flower smell sweet,

If it’s shaken, with no one to call?

Doesn't chill make our feelings retreat,

When our yearning stays hidden from all?

Smile now with your sorrow concealed,

Like a knight with his armor in pieces.

Seeking joy — in this hour, on this field —

You are chasing a memory that ceases...

She will look with her eyes full of light.

Love will find her in every heartbeat.

Let no grief in your eyes come to sight,

Even if the whole world fades in defeat.