THE FINAL VESUVIUS

By Yasen Vedrin

(The Rise of the Fall)

Vesuvius roars and swells in size

Amidst the clouds of sulfurous breath.

The boiling lava starts to rise

Deep in the mountain’s vaults of death.

Below the volcano's dark dome,

The crowds, abandoned to their sin,

Hear not the threat above their home,

Nor fear the Lord who looks within.

They raise the golden calves to view

In their abominable bow,

And in vain noise, accursed too,

To Mammon they give glory now.

Beside them – with iron spears ahead –

The earthly beasts rejoice and cry,

And rage from hell’s abysses fed

Calls them for bloody fights nearby.

Throughout the vale – the chaff is found,

All gathered up in bundles high.

Vesuvius roars above the ground,

Above the Earth's foul corpse nearby.

It roars. And soon it will explode

With its merciless, angry blast.

And doom will strike the evil road

When that fierce blast erupts at last.

For now, when reaching out to save,

A hand of Mercy and Love appears,

They beat the pure ones with a stave,

And throw the faithful to their tears.

Alas, to Justice they are blind,

Captured by giants of the night.

The thorn and greedy burdock bind

Below the peak of blinding might.

“Depart from Me, you cursed race!” –

They’ll hear from a Voice so grand.

And everyone will feel fire's place,

With judgment in their hour at hand.

And sealed by lava's heavy state,

Ready to turn them into stone,

They will recall their earthly fate

And all their empty days alone.

But I pray Thee! Heal and save,

O Lord, the sinful souls in fright!

For if You thunder like Vesuvius’ wave,

The dark won't soothe them in the night…

THE ULTIMATE BANDIT

By Yasen Vedrin

(The Rise of the Fall)

Do not look on with angry eyes

At the elite that knows no law.

All other bandits shrink in size

Before the master bandit's claw.

No mortal flesh can push his space,

No speeding bullet pierces through.

He acts from his dark, evil place,

Upon a throne of crime anew.

Within his hand, the kings are pawns.

All wars are earthly vanity.

He snaps humanity like thorns

When driving them to death's decree.

Dressed in a mantle of deceit,

He has a grand repertoire to show.

As Temple angel, pure and sweet,

Or spins just like a die below.

With power held through thousand years,

He builds his pressure on our clay.

He rules with armies full of jeers

To throw all human souls away.

He purchases consciences and thrones.

He trades in secrets of deep sin.

He plays foul parts in filthy zones

And calls himself a saint within.

But in his nature there remains

A ultimate weakness, a fierce dread,

For he's a snake in fragile chains,

Once Jesus' Holy Name is said…

And when the Sword strikes through his space,

Polished with Justice – Sacred, bright,

He falls upon his knees in disgrace,

Just like a rag, stripped of his might.

And let the Faithful know and see

That God has sent the Spirit's Gift,

From Which in darkness weeps in knee

The beast accursed, with no uplift.

All other bandits shrink in size

Before the master bandit's claw,

But Holiness stands past the skies,

And there's a Sword of fearsome law.

If you swing it with Faith in Christ,

You pierce the gloom and shadows gray,

And like a shadow sacrificed,

The bandit Satan fades away.

PARABLE OF THE TREES

By Yasen Vedrin

(The Rise of the Fall)

The trees assembled once into the wood.

They wished to have a king to rule their space.

The most majestic near and far he stood,

Whose name would be praised high in every place.

“Come, Fig Tree, come! Become our reigning king!

For there is none like you inside our land.

Your sweet, rich fruit will soothe the grief we bring.

You are the greatest, worthy to command.”

“I shall not leave my juicy, tender fruit!” –

The Fig Tree answered to the crowded wood.

“To serve and give is Life in my pursuit,

But earthly power revolts me where I stood.”

“Come, Olive Tree! Reign high above our ground!

Where can we find another like your form?

Within your Holy Oil a ray is found!

From North to South your value keeps us warm!”

“I will not rule with berries from my branch!” –

The Olive answered with a Holy grace.

“One God bestows the Light that none can quench!

Without Him, there's no Meaning in this place!”

“Come, sunny Vine, and reign above our space!

And let the wine into our cups be poured!

Become our queen with boundless power and grace,

The woods will pride in thrones you can afford!”

“I would not hold my grapes inside the clay!” –

The Vine had told them with a charming voice.

“Not every wine creates a vain display,

But passions look for ends by their own choice.”

The trees then withered in a nightmare deep.

Above them, no one wished to rule or reign.

Where could they find a master they could keep,

Whose mortal price would not be spent in vain...

They found him... Bramble! Thorny unto death!

In swarms of restless, wild mosquitoes bound.

Sucking up poisons with a mole’s dark breath,

Scratching and piercing everyone around.

“Come, terrifying one! Become our king!

Piercing us with your ominous, sharp thorn!

The voice of every creature cries to spring!

We pray you, Bramble, rule us from this morn!

In this sly world become our earthly share,

Until our clay within the dust decays!

For this is our last state and grim despair –

That you’re in us, and we are in your ways...”

MADAME PRIDE!

By Yasen Vedrin

(The Copper Bowl)

Madame Pride! I’m leaving you today!

Your fine, sophisticated drink I scorn.

With tiny sips of passion, as a prey,

You captured me; in Hell was Heaven born.

I used to wish your words would overflow,

And even wanted your stage-managed crown.

Upon your face no stain of sin would show,

You were a pure Madonna in my town.

What kind of blinded impulse did I find

To follow you, as quiet as a sigh?

Why was I weak before your words and mind,

Bound by your magic leash beneath the sky?

From all the brilliant glare your dishes start,

My soul forgot the place where it was born.

Those brothers who are wandering apart,

Whom nobody will praise or ever mourn.

Wretches and dogs in heavy mud that stay.

Even tramps who dig into the cinder pile...

...I choked upon an orange slice today.

I cannot drink your cocktail all the while.

Your glass made out of colored glass and light

I do not want before my pupils clear.

Even if I have a lineage, lost from sight –

With open covers I am standing here.

Inside my soul I’ll weep out every groan.

I’ll wipe away the tears of those in need.

Madame Pride! Farewell! No bow or throne!

Before your face my spirit shall not bleed!

GO SINK INTO THE GROUND!

By Yasen Vedrin

(The Copper Bowl)

I do not play at dice with the Deceiver.

Do not assume this choice is just a right.

Once his authoritative die gets over –

It pulls and binds so many in its might.

And afterwards – just like a stringed puppet

The captured man betrays his own poor heart.

To be a living corpse where dead men sit,

And look as if his death became his part.

I would not ask great Goethe for advice –

How Mephistopheles tempts with his art,

But it’s enough my head through sacrifice

Refused a crown of fame for thorns apart.

And not for even one single moment’s trace

Will I whisper a call in demonic chaos.

And in the claws of that old cynic’s face

I will not be the learned doctor Faust.

Why is that so? Because I’m simple-born,

And simplicity holds me in its wonder.

The absinthe of my guest, whom I now scorn,

I would not sip for any price or plunder.

He holds a contract in his fingers high,

But with no seal from Christ's own Blood divine...

“...Absorb with thrills each calculated lie!

And lick the poison from your lips like wine!

I can bestow this world to be your gain.

Become your halo and your dark enigma.

Be like a nail to me! With you in pain

To burn within the holes of God’s own stigma...”

No, devil! Your accursed and wicked die

I do not want for fate and blinded madness.

You turned the world into a flea market high,

Where filthy crowds look at your stalls with gladness.

Though you are king of rulers in this land,

In your charisma of deceit and shame –

I do not play at dice with your own hand!

Go sink into the ground, from where you came!

THE LOCKSMITH

By Yasen Vedrin

(The Copper Bowl)

Bustle. Noise. A chaotic crowd.

Everyone is trying to go first.

At a stall – within a gloomy cloud –

Sells the devil locks to feed his thirst.

“Come on, people! Keep inside the line!

Goods have been delivered for you all.

Only let me see, in order fine,

All your hands reaching toward my stall.

Oh, dear lady! Heart dressed up in lace!

Put it on the scale right away!

And you will receive from me a space –

Just the lock that fits you for today.

Safety, is it? Please, madame, don't cry!

You are making me out loud to laugh.

Once I lock your shame and keep it dry –

You will be a fairy on my staff.

You will never suffer from any need,

Nor from grief and filthy charity.

But your brand-new world will be indeed

Like an Eden, with no scarcity.

Look, how easy is it! Isn't that so?

Next one please... Well done, my dear sir!

You are used to let your heart pain grow,

But it's better if it grows colder.

Scruples, did you say? By God! Oh, no!

Hell’s own guarantee is what you gain!

Even an orphan kneeling down below

Will bring laughter. Not a bit of pain!

Key, you ask? Yes! But it stays with me!

Every lock is sold locked from the start.

Thus eternal captive life you'll see,

And a happy living as your part.

Hey, young man! Are you here coming too?

Splendid! So young, yet you want my task!

With a heart that beats like hammers do,

Building up the monument I ask...

Cool, you say? What are you talking? Look!

Super you will be beneath my shield!

Your bright future now is off the hook

With this devilish purchase in your field!”

Bustle. Noise. A chaotic crowd.

Padlocks. Tombs where final death is spun.

Hiding in the ominous, dark cloud

Goes the devil with man’s hearts undone...

A COPPER BOWL

By Yasen Vedrin

(The Copper Bowl)

I saw a strange thing in my sleeping,

Jesus disguised as a poor man.

Beside a rich man’s doorstep keeping

A comfortless and grieving span.

He stretched his hands to beg for living,

Holding a little copper bowl.

Without answers, without giving

A question if you’re good or foul...

And look – the heavy door is creaking.

Out comes a rich man in a hat.

Like horses, up his head is peeking,

He looks at gray skies, cold and flat.

He goes to buy a paper, walking.

Should he now take a brolly high?

A moment later, near his stalking,

A copper bowl gleams in his eye.

“Oh, just a little mercy, mister!

A tiny coin from your own soul!”

“No! Not for you, you filthy blister!

I’m sick of begging hands that stroll!

Get out of here! You smell like rot!

You crawled from some deep, dirty hole!

Can’t you see written on this spot –

This home is model as a whole?”

With furious eyes after this talking,

The evil wealthy man is bound

To buy a paper from his walking,

With his favorite reportage found.

The beggar Jesus takes a flight

Just like an angel, on the fly.

The heavens hide Him in a bright

And prayerful rain with tearful sky.

Inside a bar, the man is seating,

He opens papers with a smile...

Sips from his coffee while he's eating

A sweet croissant to pass the while...

The rainy weather wakes me inside.

I leave the house, no brolly high.

To find a beggar on the curbside,

With a copper bowl passing by...

To recognize inside my keeping

The longing of the Good God's heart!

I want no more while world is weeping,

A doomed and cruel world from start!

LOVE ONE ANOTHER!

By Yasen Vedrin

(Pearl Seeker)

Love one another! Everything beside

As meaning has long ceased to burn and glow.

In inglorious oblivion quickly hide

Success and power, money, properties below.

And happiness for thousand reasons grand

We search for in the places where it’s not,

And then – after the robbed years of our land –

Grief presses us to knees within our lot.

In illusions, compromises, and vows made,

The days now freeze with their conceited ice.

Having jumped our highest bars that we had laid –

We fence ourselves with low hurdles, not wise.

And the north wind keeps blowing with no peace,

In endless doubts and jealousies untold.

While torn emotions are devoured and cease

By force that howls like wolves into the cold…

We lose ourselves in nights of anxious care,

And cheap makeup conceals our daily track.

For simple things – we’re complex everywhere,

And from forgiving pain, we hold it back.

Is it a mold? A grim deceit so deep,

But this wild world is racing like a dream.

And having started for the truest match to keep

We cannot even step outside the stream…

Having leapt past comforts and each heavy bar

To warm up features that have faded out –

For maybe still there wander, young and far,

Unborn and uncreated dreams of doubt.

Love one another! Time is running low,

And dross for journeys is of no amount.

And only he whose love is true and slow

Could double up his life on Earth's account!

LIVE ME, O LOVE!

By Yasen Vedrin

(Pearl Seeker)

Live me, O love! Long live me through your days!

Thirst for my soul from future years that gleam.

For some impossible jubilee that stays,

Where feelings turn to pictures in a dream.

And in the silver threads of hair, the mind

Begins to echo memory's old track…

Live me within the warmth that embers find,

When final coals burn out and fade to black.

Do not smooth down the wrinkles deep and wide.

They are but rivers with dried-up, hard beds.

Live me! To overflow with rolling tide,

Although their salt stays hidden where it treads.

Tie all the seasons in a single knot.

Do not gaze back at youth that flew away.

Though heavy with the age that is our lot –

Live me, as if I were a minster gray.

Bright rays will pass into your soul and gleam,

And winds that suddenly have gone and died.

The world, just like an acorn, bitter will seem,

With missed-out meetings, partings cast aside.

But you, still gentle, live me as you must,

And let me be your autumn potion, bright –

For that single moment, when Holy Chrism and trust

Shall seal our final faith and confession's light.

And somewhere, in the stars on night’s dark dome,

Two shadows will find eternity anew…

Live me, O love! Life's Meaning in its home

Still whispers softly that it’s Me and You!

PINOCCHIO

By Yasen Vedrin

(Pearl Seeker)

Do you recall the ancient story told

About a boy assembled out of wood?

His master breathed a ray of faith so bold –

A miracle in nature, bright and good.

The timid little creature made a start

To get to know this world so wide and grand –

How man is born to love with all his heart

And fights to find a friend in every land.

Pinocchio was a puppet, fair and fine,

Who could walk out without a single thread.

In crowded halls, he’d make the audience shine –

To thieves and rich men, laughter he would spread.

In some terrible, causeless turn of fate,

He soon became a target for all bad.

The tremor of his innocence so great

Suffered from blamed and guilty faults he had.

Both greed and fraud had grabbed him in their stride.

Traps and deceits had tripped his steps away.

And the poor wood within its tragic tide

Knew that his life was heavy day by day.

But with a tiny, single flame of love,

He started walking toward the dark-blue sea.

To save his father, looking up above –

Even if death should set his spirit free.

Into the whale’s terrifying womb

Pinocchio had dived, troubled and deep,

To test his love inside that monstrous gloom

And break the captive hold it wished to keep…

Do you recall the ancient story told

About the wood that turned into a boy?

Perhaps it is repeating, clear and old,

To draw us to its wisdom and its joy?

Love reads us through with its consuming fire.

Let us now catch its word and make it turn.

Perhaps a piece of wood holds our desire –

The secret truth that we were made to burn…

THROUGH TIME

By Yasen Vedrin

(Pearl Seeker)

Through time I passed just like a verse is spun,

Born from the wounds that never found a heal.

I cured the pain of grieving souls undone.

I touched sad hearts, scattered and unreal.

I crossed my Rubicons, day after day.

And stretched the borders that impossible seemed.

I was Rodin’s white thinker on his way,

Gazing at anxious horizons that gleamed.

Alone I gathered feathers torn and shed.

I sewed them into wings – Daedalus, I guess.

And I could understand where birds were led,

Why they fly high in skies of golden bless.

I filled my hands with seashells from the shore –

The pearly tenderness that oceans start.

Why, where, how long, when did it open more –

Each answer found its shelter in my heart.

By ancient pathways tempted and enticed –

I looked for limits in the wood and stone.

And in an old, wise parable sufficed –

Like a bright lamp with burning flame alone.

I gave myself away – just like a rock

Turned into sand by waves that strike the shore.

Feathers and shells, the fire’s burning shock

Filled all my days with meaning evermore.

Through time I passed just like a verse is spun.

Upon my knees – before the wisdom past.

I do not know if self-forgiveness won,

But God’s own pardon is eternal and will last.

PARABLE OF THE WONDROUS RIVER

By Yasen Vedrin

(The Copper Bowl)

A beautiful legend conquered my mind.

An old, sacred tale of a river so grand.

It healed every torment and grief of mankind,

Once washing the heart with a splash from the hand.

The deepest and open wounds quickly would mend.

No scar or a mark would remain to be seen.

A broken flower its new roots would send.

A dying spirit would spark and grow clean.

Along the green bank, a true Eden for all,

Day and night, lines of crowds would arrive.

The misfortunes of life that would bitterly fall,

Everyone wanted to melt and survive.

But they failed to learn the great lesson inside,

Concealed in the wise, flowing river and creek.

They were only enticed by the success and the tide,

Without a heart weeping in chests of the meek.

Without the silence of awe for the grace,

Without each poor soul bowing down in the mud…

And with hope, that the Lord had awakened to trace,

To give out around drops of love like a flood…

The clamor and cries from the mouths with no peace

Then saddened the river with sorrow and dread.

In a flash, all the waters subsided to cease,

And the green, blooming bank became darkened and dead.

Thus they left, with their anger unconquered and high,

Long lines of sin-burdened and sorrowful souls.

And they quickly returned with their open wounds nigh,

Midst misfortunes that shatter all human goals.

Only an old man with weeping and sighs

Held a handful of gift from the stream in his palms.

And he wrote in a legend of wisdom and cries

This end of the human estate and its qualms.

The river is still flowing living out there,

And with its pure waters a wonder imparts.

It is seen in the eyes that are weeping in prayer,

When people humble before God their hearts.

PARABLE OF THE KIND MAN AND THE SNAKE

By Yasen Vedrin

(The Rise of the Fall)

A kind man walked the forest floor,

A dying snake he chanced to see.

A swelling on its head it bore,

Which woke his deepest sympathy.

“Oh, let me take this wounded thing

Into my home and tend its grief,

For to all lives that breathe and spring

My troubled soul would bring relief.

With healing herbs and potions rare

I’ll cure the snake and ease its pain,

And we shall be a friendly pair…” –

The naive man resolved in vain.

He put it in his bag with care

And brought it home to heal its skin.

A month went by, and then and there

The snake grew swift and bright within.

The kind man rejoiced. “Behold,

I brought this creature back to live!

And every blessing, new or old,

Returns with fruit that it can give.

And this happy little living thing

Begins to crawl and move with glee.

It coils tightly like a ring

And brings out tears of joy in me…”

Thus spoke the man with open mind,

Succeeded in his deeds so bright.

He stroked the creature – soft and kind,

For it was his companion quite.

He laid it in a bed of bran,

And then he went to sleep and rest,

But soon the snake's dark pupils ran

With burning fury in its breast.

And so the snake with filthy spite

Bit the kind man without remorse.

He woke up late into the night…

Numbed by the pain along his course.

“Tell me, O cruel creature, why

Did you just bite me in my bed?

Did I not heal you, standing by,

With goodness that my hands have shed?

Why do you punish me with death,

To leave this life alone and cold?

Did you rise from the pit beneath

Of that dark spirit from of old?”

“My nature is accursed and vile!” –

The creature hissed into the space.

“Of all the beasts that crawl the wild

To me belongs the foul disgrace.

Great mercy you have shown to me,

But I have bit you in my pride.

This is your tragic destiny,

For there is nothing on our side…”

The kind man died in spasm sharp.

He closed his eyes into the night.

And let true wisdom like a harp

Resound from this clear tale of might.

A snake deserves no home or trust.

The Good and Evil cannot fuse.

No place for devils in our dust,

For they are driven by Jesus.

A PRISON STORY

By Yasen Vedrin

(The Copper Bowl)

A story now I shall unfold

Of a struggle that came to grief.

A rebel with a heart of gold

Tripped up his fate and found no peace.

He often loved to talk and share

With all his friends in dialogue,

That in his soul he could not bear

The ruler, a cruel, tyrant dog.

But his plain words were overheard

By treacherous men of evil mind.

And soon with slander and a word

A spying trap was redesigned.

The man cried out his painful groan.

He spoke out words of fighting might.

But microphone records were blown,

And he knew nothing of his plight.

With heavy rage and brutal force

The tyrant chased him from that day.

And in a flash, his human course

Was covered in wormwood's decay.

Within the prison he was cast

Marked as a rebel of the state,

And with the others there at last

His heart was grieving for his fate.

A cellmate lived beside his bed –

A withered wretch with beard so white.

But in the fate that he was led

He became brother, father, light.

And just before he took his flight

To go to God’s sweet, heavenly floor,

He chose to share his wisdom's light

In one last Holy lesson more.

“Now listen to my words, my son,

Before my eyes forever close.

This prison time will soon be done

And memory will erase its woes.

A cunning man recorded you

And basely slandered all your art.

I know today you tremble through

And this oppresses your poor heart.

But let another record stay

Before you open and revealed.

For God puts conscience in our clay

To be a fierce, targeted shield.

It keeps a record of each deed,

Of hidden sins and spoken word.

An unseen judge above our breed,

When summoned by the Living Lord.

And sinners howl in hell's deep fire,

If in their life they did not try

To clear from conscience their desire –

The devil's wealth they lived to buy.

Fall on your knees in prayer now

For God to pardon your misdeed.

The soul will fly – we know not how –

To fall, or shine like holy seed…

From me, a wretch in heavy chain,

A blessing comes to you with love,

For just one drop of Blood is gain

For peace beneath God's tent above…”

The old man died, bent down and low,

Above his grieving son and brother.

But with his final, parting glow,

Grace came to wash the cells each other.

And in that bright and sacred space

The man felt Holy freedom far,

Along an unseen path of grace

Toward a bright, sweet Morning Star.

A TALK WITH AN ANGEL

By Yasen Vedrin

(The Bird Inside You)

“I am watching… You aren't from here, brother!

Where are you from? Just tell me, I pray!”

“I come here from a world like no other.

I’m an angel. From Heaven, to say!”

“And why did you descend in this shade?

Among hovels, where grief has no end…”

“For the good souls my heart is dismayed.

My white feathers to them I will lend.”

“Will each feather suffice for a soul,

So that man turns to God from his track?”

“He must only choose good as his goal,

And his hope will bring all spirit back…”

“Maybe he, just like you, will take flight…

Like a bird in the sky, wild and free.”

“Let him pardon all evil and spite,

Leave his cage and its narrow decree.”

“Give me, angel, a blessing so quiet,

And some feathers – to share your own call!”

“Go to man in the low, destitute riot,

Where the tears of the poverty fall!”

“I will give all your feathers out there,

But will new ones grow back on your skin?”

“Every angel finds temples to share,

Once Christ is beloved deep within…”

“Up above, down below… Eternity stays!

Even hearts can hold God in their zone!”

“Go now, traveler! My feathers will raise

And will wing your bright lyre, alone!”

“Will you come back again? Let me know!

I still want your great wings to behold!”

“Go now! Follow your path down below,

While I hide in the deeds you unfold…”

“I am leaving… The steep path is mud,

But I trust that the Lord sent you here…”

“We shall meet once again in the flood of the beyond –

Bright messengers, winged and clear!”