WITHIN THE HEART, THE KING BECOMES A SERVANT!

By Yasen Vedrin

(The Bird Within You)

A Holy, high, divine design

Sustains my spirit to this day –

Prepared to serve the multi-line,

Within the heart, the King obeys.

And let no human mind displace

The proper order of the Lord,

For Love, unchanging in its grace,

Is Meaning, Covenant, and Word.

Since God is shining like a Sun

From pages Holy and complete –

He called on you, as He has done,

After He washed His servants' feet.

Let not your spirit fall or fade

When seeing pharaohs on their way,

Who scorned the Prize that Heaven made,

To praise their earthly thrones of clay.

To rule above the slaves in pride

And seek a glossy, greedy gain.

Such travelers to the pit will slide,

And reach it after all their pain…

But you, from Heaven’s Holy Aim,

Do not turn off your watching eyes,

Though narrow is the Path you claim,

And bitter are the evil's sighs.

Because the Lord will open wide

A brilliant pearl gate for your love,

But those who walk in Diotrephes' pride

Will never find a way above.

Remember the most Holy part,

Though temporary grief may string –

Prepared to serve with all His heart,

A Servant is our Heavenly King.

TELL THEM, FATHER ABRAHAM!

By Yasen Vedrin
(The Copper Bowl)

Tell them, O Father Abraham,
To all within this world of sin,
That Word of God is like a Temple,
And man is truly rich within.

Tell them, O Father Abraham,
About the Hill with God’s own Ram,
For there the truest meaning grew –
To prove that all your faith was true.

Tell them, O Father Abraham,
Of Lazarus, whom you did cheer,
For nowadays by grand deceit
The faithless souls are swaying here.

Tell them, O Father Abraham,
To people who have wealth untold,
The wicked burns in hellish flame,
If in his life his heart was cold.

Tell them, O Father Abraham,
Even about the dark beyond,
For it is like a blackened pit,

Where sinners to the judge respond.

Before his conscience – man is lone,
His breath and soul to God are due…
Tell them, O Father Abraham!
Reveal the Holy Covenant true! 

THE POOR MAN IS COVENANT LOVE FROM THE START!

By Yasen Vedrin

(The Copper Bowl)

The poor man is seeking no mercy or aid.

By God he’s already been spared in his plight.

And once all the evils of earth start to fade,

He’ll step with his feet to the Day of Eternal light.

To receive there a comfort so bright, like a gleam,

And a peaceful repose like a wonderful stream,

From the open and pure, holy palm of a hand –

From the Hand of deep Grace that rules over the land.

The poor man despises no destiny sent.

He lives through his sorrow, his yoke, and his sigh.

To this earthly existence he came to be spent,

To die here below, so he lives up on high…

He envies no glory that comes from the clay,

For the power of the world he desires no part.

With two or three morsels of bread on his way,

With generosity, mercy, he burns in his heart.

The poor man has nothing to lose in the race,

For he hasn't acquired the things that depart…

He smiles as he welcomes the world's rough embrace,

And feels he is dear to the Lord’s holy heart.

And his spirit is opening wider each night,

Just like a white door that is shining with light –

To fan the most humble, small gift into flame,

Like a coal in the embers that honors His name.

The poor man is Covenant Love from the start.

A spirit that won the great Heavenly Share.

And even within his sad destiny's part,

He offered God’s kindness through trials and prayer…

The grief here below is a moment. A sigh.

And right after that – the Great Covenant Town.

No blood-sucking prices are rising up high,

No greed from the wicked world weighs a soul down.

The fortunate poor man returns to his home,

To rest after sorrow and grief in the dark.

While gazing with tenderness, under the dome,

The seven-hued Rainbow leaves on him its mark…

HOLD FAST TO HIS HAND!

By Yasen Vedrin

(The Copper Bowl)

The world is submerged under waves rising high,

Devouring the night and the days passing by.

The souls are all drowning in silt and in mud,

Dragged down by a plague and a sorrowful flood.

But there, in the darkened and wild river's track,

A Holy Hand reaches to carry us back.

It seeks no reward, takes no bribe from the land,

But offers the peace that the Covenant planned.

It touches, delivers, and cleanses, and heals,

Performing great wonders that Heaven reveals.

And he who perceives it, within its pure palm,

Lays all of his faith, and his dreams, and his calm.

The heart of the poor man is beating down here,

Wounded by hands that bring sorrow and fear.

Corrupted and greedy, with fists made of rage,

So far from the Example taught on each page.

But all that he needs is that one single Hand,

Which lifts up the mountains across the wide land…

The Hand that sustains his own spirit with might,

And always weighs Holy in God’s sacred sight.

Bestowing Eternity, filling with grace,

Chasing all nightmares and grief from this place.

And let it forever and ever be so –

His heart in this wonderful Hand down below.

The world is submerged under waves rising high,

And cruelties pile up their guilt to the sky.

But he who has placed his own soul in that Hand,

Remains dry and safe through the floods of the land.

Forever to praise the Great Groom from above…

Have you understood, brother?

Hold His Hand with love!

ASK THE LORD GOD FOR AN AUTOGRAPH!

By Yasen Vedrin

(The Copper Bowl)

Ask the Lord God to grant an autograph.

Upon your very heart, let Him sign true…

Am I mistaken here? Or do I speak

For such a miracle to come to you?

The world pursues cheap stars along the street,

And begs for signatures, just for the fame.

To fill its pride with a deceptive heat,

Midst fleshly noises and a shallow game.

The Savior, with His Holy pen in hand,

Will write His own deep words within your mind,

Whenever faithful souls across the land

Perform Good deeds that He won't leave behind.

"I was so hungry! And you gave Me bread!

I was so thirsty! And you gave Me drink!

I was so sick, with weakness on My bed,

But in a wretch, of My Name you did think!

I was in prison, and you came to see!

And I a stranger was, who found a home!

After so many doors were closed to Me,

Your own doors opened for Me not to roam!"

It is in this way Jesus signs today,

And validates His Name with drops of Blood.

They know His Covenant by heart, they say,

Yet trample it with hatred through the flood.

He still remains unseen by many eyes.

A Star that grounded its own Holy Might.

To wait and gaze, mocked under darkened skies,

At fruitless hands and hearts devoid of Light.

And nowadays, when all accumulate wrath,

And coldness is a norm, a public sign,

Ask the Lord God to grant an autograph…

Upon your very heart, let Him sign fine!

QUO VADIS, DOMINE!

By Yasen Vedrin

(The Copper Bowl)

Insane Nero set his own Rome on fire,

And hid the sky in clouds of heavy smoke.

Senators, pale with horror and with ire,

Screamed out to him as fears within awoke:

"O, Divine One! Where is the arsonist

Who burned our beautiful, majestic home?

Which men are they who dare to clear resist

The greatest, ancient gods of holy Rome?

Are they not all the villains who have made

This fiery hell, this terrible despair?

For we prevent them in the market's shade

To spread their Jewish stench among slaves there.

From here, and there, the name of Christ appears!

Just one more step – Apollo he will own!…

This looks like treason, Nero, and brings fears

For your great power and your golden throne.

Do not delay! For Rome is ashes now!

Issue a sentence! Write down a decree!

To crush their criminal, dark work and vow,

For they are rabies to our souls, you see!

Go throw them to arena right away!

Upon the crosses let them all be slain!

So that no single soul can run away

From your most righteous, holy judgment's reign…"

Nero obeyed the angry, hunting pack.

He played his harp. With heavy wine got deep.

And then inside his marble chambers, back,

He signed the edict, lying down to sleep.

And said to them: "With soldiers go and seek!

Arrest all those who bear the name of Grace.

For they are filthy dogs, and vile, and meek –

In lies, dishonor, shame and foul disgrace.

These evil hyenas are a prey for lions.

And Jupiter is whispering to my soul,

That they are arsonists with dark designs

To burn a city that was bright and whole.

Go throw them to arena's Roman floor!

Upon the crosses let them all expire!

For we’re a sacred empire evermore,

And it will never burn from any fire…"

…An old apostle walked his path alone,

He felt a flash of lightning through the shade.

"Where are You going, Lord, my only own?

Are You for Rome again, where traps are laid?"

"Yes, I return!" – he heard from out the Light –

"To be crucified with My brothers there!

Come follow Me! For this price in the night

Will make you Mine after your final prayer…"

And Peter breathed his last. Condemned and bound.

Upside down crucified, with feet to sky.

And in a flash, deep peace his spirit found,

From breaths of Endless Life that cannot die.

He knew that there was no way back to trace,

Since he had walked to follow God’s own Son…

While Rome awoke. Depraved and smoky place,

Before the ruler whose dark path was done.

THE BUNCH OF ONIONS

By Yasen Vedrin

(The Copper Bowl)

The wealthy man died at a midnight hour,

He breathed his last breath in his palace high.

The beautiful bedroom of luxury power

Turned into a hell in the blink of an eye.

Midst acrid black smoke and the wild cries of pain,

His terrified soul raised a desperate shout:

"Why punish me so, O Lord, under this rain

Of sulphur and fire that won't go out?

Have I lived my life as a heartless, bad man

Among all the people beneath the white sun?

Am I truly doomed to this terrible plan –

To smoulder in tar, by your judgment undone?

Examine and look at my destiny's page!

Find only one good deed I left in my wake!

Do not punish me with this sorrow and rage,

And burn me no more for a heavy mistake!"

The rich man was screaming for mercy above.

His voice echoed loud from the walls of the dead.

And lo, from the heavenly spaces of love,

The Lord saw his soul in the fire so red.

"What's that? – said the Maker – I'll look once again

At the life of this wretch and the paths he has trod!

If one piece of good by My Word I sustain –

From hell I will save him in mercy of God…"

The Maker observed all his human mistakes.

And found only one good deed left in his past.

"O, let Me correct this old error for sakes!" –

The Lord in His Heart has decided at last.

"Let a messenger go from the heaven right now!" –

The gavel of Justice struck hard with a sound.

"Go save this dark soul from the prison and vow!

Lift him with a bunch of fresh onions unbound!"

The heaven grew quiet. Oh, what a surprise!

We waited for God to commit a mistake!

He found a good deed in a sinner we despise!

In the worst of all souls that the devil could make!

He saw him by chance on a market's busy floor,

Buying some onions and greens on that day…

And then driving horses right back to his door,

To his giant palace that stood far away.

The wagon was shaken by one small white stone,

And a bunch of fresh onions dropped down to the street.

A poor little orphan, left starving and lone,

Bent down without making a sound to his feet.

"Go take it! Go take it!" – the rich man just cried

With a laugh, as he waved with a casual hand.

"No human distress makes me frightened inside!

My wealth is a river across all the land…"

And that very bunch of fresh onions, divine,

The messenger took from the Father’s decree.

And flew down to hell, where the horrors align,

Where fire and smoke had no limit to see.

He saw the rich man. And he shouted from high:

"Hold on to the onions right now with your hand!

For this is the only good deed passed you by,

The only one left from your days in the land!"

The rich man jumped up. With his fingers he caught

This miraculous rope that was lowered to save.

He started to rise. But from underneath sought

Two men who were pulling him down to the grave.

"Ah, you wretched fools! Cursed, miserable, bad!

Let go of my feet in this moment, I say!

Go die in the fire with tortures so sad,

With a terrifying shout as you wither away!

The rope from above is my own, only mine!

In my destiny's share you have no right or part!

For you are all nothing, but this is divine –

My ticket to Heaven's grand ball from the start…"

But no one let go, though he screamed in his fright.

The angel was flying, still leaving the ground.

And the bunch of fresh onions, like eternity bright,

The wealthy man held with a grip that was bound.

But then, in his madness, he dropped it to dark,

And furious, started to shout and to yell:

"O, you filthy worms from a cloaca so stark!

Why do you need Heaven's gates, burning in hell?"

Before he could push them with blistered, raw skin –

Into the hot tar he splashed down with the crowd.

And the bunch of fresh onions, a treasure within,

Became his last sin as the darkness avowed.

"The Maker errs not from His Glory above!" –

The messenger shouted with fire and light.

"The heart made for evil – deserves no true love,

And hell is the place that it wants in the night!

The rope that was lifting you up to the sky,

You dropped in your madness, by fury possessed.

And the bunch of fresh onions – like chains heavy, high,

Let it burn in your soul, by your venom oppressed…"

BE A TREE FOR THE LORD GOD ALMIGHTY!

By Yasen Vedrin

(The Bird Within You)

A tree that brings forth Holy Fruit –

Be such a tree with God's bright gleam.

Collect the Everlasting loot,

For earthly goods are dust and dream.

Before the Lord they are but vain.

A shell for prisons made of dust.

But when His Holiness is plain –

Be precious, walking in His trust.

Within the Covenant Book, each day,

A spiritual treasure starts to grow.

And looks from heaven, far away,

Observe your deeds down here below.

Be wealthy in the Heaven’s sight,

Midst worlds of weeds and useless chaff,

For in God's Grace and holy light,

Abides the one who gives on staff.

And when the final line is drawn,

Your share will face no shame or cold,

But in a world unseen, reborn,

Your happy soul He will behold.

Be a tree for the Lord God Almighty!

Seek no reward from human hand!

Leave your traces, shining brightly,

High up in the Heavens' land!

For all the kindness you have sown

Will be your prize when time is done,

If Fruit in sorrow you have grown,

When suffering for the Holy One.

Collect the Everlasting loot,

Though it may cost Golgotha’s smart,

And lightning from the sky will shoot,

To kiss the tree into a Gift of heart…

DOUBTING THOMAS

By Yasen Vedrin

(The Bird Within You)

"Rome has crucified Jesus! Heavy darkness fell low!"

Thomas thought in his sadness, under grief’s bitter blow.

"Death has seized Him too early and has torn Him away,

Though in this earthly life He was our light and our stay.

He had promised to rise, over death to prevail,

But for miracles now, Holy dreams start to fail.

Everyone sent by God in this wasteland has died.

Instead of pure joy – only fears I descried.

For without Him we're wretched, left as orphans in grief.

Who will shine like the sun now, to bring us relief?"

A quick lightning flash! Brilliant glory unrolled!

And the Lord stood among them, breaking loneliness’ hold.

And as Thomas perceives Him, shining bright in the skies,

He still rubs with his hands all his tear-weary eyes.

And he barely can speak two or three words with dread,

Burning under his doubt, while his cheeks turn to red.

"Let it clearly be seen that You live in our land,

In the wounds of Your flesh let me place now my hand…"

The Lord looks with pure grace and steps forward with peace,

And from this wretched doubter makes the disbelief cease.

"Come now, place your own finger in My wounds, as you said!

I was crucified there, with deep sorrow and dread!

But the dark power of death over Life has no might,

After Golgotha’s hill I returned to your sight!"

Broken down in the silence, Thomas reaches his hand,

And no trace of the darkness in his soul can now stand.

"I believe, Lord and God! Cleanse my shame and my sin!

For no mortal can shine like the Glory within!

In Your wounds flows the Mercy of the Father above.

To You my soul vows! You are called by my love!

Give the Flock that is faithful that blest, holy thrill,

To believe without sight – and more strongly than I still!"

SIMON OF CYRENE

By Yasen Vedrin

(The Bird Within You)

My Lord stumbled and fell to the dust of the road.

A wild soldier kicked Him and yelled through the space:

"Stand up now!" The Cross groaned beneath its black load,

As if it had voices, while tears stained my face.

Above His crushed ribs the whip crackles and flies.

"Stand up, blessed King!" I can hear someone scream.

But all human strength from His bleeding back dies.

My Lord suffers helpless. How moves He downstream?

A sharp glance is scraping me: "Come here! Draw near!

Lift His Cross very quickly! It falls to the ground!"

I run out in horror. Swords, armor appear.

A terrifying look fixes me without bound.

I pull back my chest in a frightened, quick stride,

Expecting the Cross to destroy me completely.

I walk there. No questions. My lips tightly tied.

A miracle! The Cross bears me, winged and sweetly!

Each cut of the blade, every sorrow and sin

Sink deep in a chasm; I walk without fear.

Is it You, eternal Lord, washing within

The stains of my guilt, as You stumbled down here?

How can my voice shout to the world in its daze,

That once Your Blood gushes, it brings Holy Grace?

The path on the hill ends; I lower the base,

The Lord looks in silence, with love in His face.

And letting loose softly His memorable sigh:

"I know who you are. You’re my Simon, anew!

The Cross found you out as the crowds passed you by!

God called you the Faithful, with Love trapping you!"

My Lord breathed His last. After earthquakes and cries,

The Earth hushed in echoes under darkening skies:

"Praise Jesus!"

MARY MAGDALENE

By Yasen Vedrin

(The Copper Bowl)

With a sinister glance, someone looks with disgust –

As before all she comes, in her Lord putting trust.

Under garments so torn by temptation and vice,

Seeking comfort, she wants His forgiveness to rise.

On her knees she falls down, letting loose all her hair,

From her eyes start to pour heavy tears of despair.

Before Christ she bends low, from a jar she distills

For her heart – holy hope, for her faith – what He wills.

The proud Pharisee shakes in his horror and rage:

"In my house did you dare to pollute my clean stage?

You, so filthy and stained, who have lived for the bad,

How shine you on my threshold with perfume, unclad?

Let you rot in the hell! Let Him strike you to dust!

You can't wash all your sins with your tears and your lust!

Yet the Lord strokes her hair... He is crazy, it seems,

Does He mock the great Torah with these wild, shocking dreams?

If a teacher He was, or a prophet of light,

In my holy abode He would preach for the right.

Of Sodom, Gomorrah, and God’s righteous Wrath,

Which has struck down the sinners along their dark path…"

In a moment the Lord turns and speaks without fear:

"I have entered your house, and as Truth I am here!

Let me ask you a question, and tell Me the truth –

Do you easily pardon a debtor in youth?

Who will love with more strength, being faithful till death?

The one whom you have bound with money and breath,

Or the one whose large debt you have fully erased?

Why is your troubled heart looking so displeased?"

"She has loved Me so much. Many sins I forgave.

When her soul started flowing – even more I outgave…

With fine oil she anointed, with her tears she did cover.

Did God punish you, then, when I washed her all over?"

…Early morning. A garden. Empty tomb, Holy theme.

Magdalene runs again to exalt her Supreme.

Resurrected and glorious, His love He proclaims.

In a soft, trembling whisper, "Rabboni!" she names.

EVERLASTING GIFT FROM HIGH!

By Yasen Vedrin

(I Kneel Before You)

From this wide world I am now parted.

I look at no earth calendar.

For me the Lord arose, light-hearted,

To be my Gift from near and far…

And in my heart no date is turning,

But only love and bows I bring,

For Freedom in my soul is burning,

And Zion's Light, where angels sing.

With Him the time of life, extended,

Gathered into a single Day –

Rays from the Cross, where shapes amended,

And born in God I found my way.

I have received the Strength, untamed,

The Covenant power from above,

His long-lived Mercy, softly named,

Has filled my chest with Holy love.

And even to old age, appearing,

I’ll tremble, saved and full of grace,

Since Christ arose, my spirit clearing,

I am raised with Him in that place.

Amen and Amen!

TO BE MY EVERLASTING SHARE!

By Yasen Vedrin

(I Kneel Before You)

Whether the Shepherd of the Flock,

Or of the branches You’re the Vine,

You, Lord, remain my King, my Rock,

The only King on earth of mine.

Whether the Bread, from God so Holy,

Or Morning Star that starts to rise,

With You I stay newborn and solely

I have the bird's flight to the skies.

Whether the Rock that stands for ages,

Or Lamp upon the Altar's side,

I will not choose other pages,

But follow You with Faith as guide.

Whether the True and Living Temple,

Or of the Wedding Feast the Lamb,

You are my Flame, so pure and simple,

The Covenant Crest of who I am.

Whether the Righteous Judge, the Giver,

Or David’s Root of ancient grace,

With You, against the snake, the slither,

I will be strong in every place.

Whether the Bridegroom, bright and glowing,

Or narrow Gate, in Spirit pressed,

With Your sweet Wine my heart is flowing,

And in You is my soul so blest.

Whether the Stone from Zion's mountain,

Or Alpha and Omega, true,

My heart bowed down to Your pure fountain,

And in the Ark I am with You.

The Father has in You united

The Heavens and the earth in prayer!

To have my soul by You invited –

To be my Everlasting Share!

WHO IS YOUR NEIGHBOR...

By Yasen Vedrin 

(The Copper Bowl)

When burdened with sorrow and worried by grief,

Ask God who your neighbor is, for your relief.

And who, like an angel with wings spread around,

Was sent by your Father to this earthly ground.

Not one who is ready for cheap, empty chatter,

To warm you with thousands of words that don't matter.

But rather the other, who carries your load,

With Christ's Holy Love on this difficult road.

In life, made so hard by the thistle and thorn,

May that Friend arrive, with a holy spark born.

To nourish your wretched, sad soul with his grace,

And be Holy Oil for your wounds in this place.

To see in this beautiful picture, so bright,

How all of your pain left your soul in the night,

Yet with Christ-like devotion and sacrifice free,

He asked for no payment or token from thee…

You’ll say: "Oh, my brother! But how could it be

To find such a neighbor for someone like me?

This task is too heavy for my human mind,

For man is a wolf to the rest of mankind…"

Hear now my advice – it is Holy and clear!

Christ in your own heart is the Neighbor most dear!

If fiery words from this verse move your soul –

Then all of your faith in His Name makes you whole.

THE LORD HIMSELF BECOMES YOUR WOUND!

By Yasen Vedrin

(The Copper Bowl)

Are you weary, my brother, of being always banned?

Of tasting no sweetness, being last in the land?

Of being looked at askance, as if you bore the blame?

Like a scrawny old mule, wandering poisoned with shame…

Has this sovereign fate made you weary and sore –

To be hunted with hatred, like a plague at the door?

To see them avert their cold eyes, while they whisper behind,

That amidst all these days, you’re the trash of mankind?

Are you weary of being a target and aim?

Forbidden, denied, on a path filled with shame?

To be the sharp stone where everyone stumbles and falls,

While your last fading flame into loneliness calls?

Even Christ on the earth felt this weariness grow –

With a crown on His head from the thorns here below.

He was mocked and was scourged, he was cursed and condemned,

By a traitor’s kiss sealed, by His own people stemmed…

Are you weary, my brother? Just a moment remains…

And in this brief time, the Lord shares all your pains.

He attracts all our fates, bleeding on Golgotha’s ground…

And to love in this way – only Life can be found…