Начи ето едно стихотворение, което писах в 10ти клас. Таман учехме символизъм по литература и с брата (Жеко) бяхме решили да си направим един списък с любими символи, които после да употребим в някаква творба, за да видим как става. Та аз седнах със списъчето и еякулирах за няколко часа следното малоумие:
Няма име
I
Гъста бяла мъгла света е покрила.
Бледо слънце, лед вятър хапе със злобна сила.
Вакуум кух, липсва слово, няма стон, нито смях...
Студ сковал е земята. Мъка грозна и страх.
Тук във лиш на светлик се поражда животът
и в тъма непрогледна е загубен Кивотът,
изтощена от мъка земята се свива...
Всяка вечер се тук злото страшно надига.
II
Заник слънце. Родилната мъка напира.
Писък страшен. Кръвта на потоци извира
от недрата на болната майка земя,
а от черния мрак ражда се красота-
дева дивно красива, в черни кърви обляна,
че кръвта е за нея на одеждите смяна.
Хиляди като нея бавно в бледия мрак
се събират във кръг и отново, и пак,
ритуалът започва и злокобната песен
се над тях възвишава с крясък шеметно бесен.
Нежни бели нозе се унасят във бяг
там надолу, към все по-гъстеещ се мрак,
там без звук, в тъмнина Господарят седи
във богатия трон. Силна мъка гори
в хладно-синия взор изпод бялото чело,
що от тежките мисли се е тежко навело.
Паднал ангел е той, но все още красив-
с красотата злокобна на пламъка жив,
там самотен, застанал на острова пръв,
сред води на море от живителна кръв
чака нещо и взира се в сивия бряг...
И дочува се тропот от дивия бяг
на препускащи в мрака чер бели нозе,
устремени към кроткото спящо море.
И нагазват девиците в топлата кръв,
и обливат се, лочат я, пеят, пищят,
и се пръсва Граалът, и прекършва се Кръстът,
Младенецът пищи, злото тройно се връща.
Всяка вечер е тъй откак ангелът падна,
всяка вечер-все таз тъмна оргия жадна...
III
Господарят въздъхва и оборва чело.
Вижда той-сега злото се убива само.
Знае също, че с него си отива и той,
свойта орис нелека гръмко виква на бой,
но загубва и трябва сега да плати
със господството свое в тези мрачни земи.
Бавно рукват сълзи по лицето красиво,
към брега се обръща, ръце вдига диво,
пламва огън, обхваща морето, брегът,
с писък страшен се гърчи умираща плът.
И през пламъци жежки Господарят крещи:
"О, Съдба непреклонна! Вавилон се руши!
Уморено от себе си злото умира
и сърцето ми каменно своя пулс спира.
Аз отивам си! Сбогом красиви злини!
Ще се върна отново! Нека дъжд завали!"
IV
Руква силно дъждът и удавя мъглата.
В мракът бягащ пред силата на светлината
се показва Кивотът, Кръстът пак се слепява,
а Граалът парче по парче се сглобява.
Младенецът усмихва се гушнат в земята
и възправя се с кръшна снага добротата.
А във тъмните дебри на адските бездни
полетяват със песен рой ангели звездни-
все надолу към злата тъма на Тартара.
Спират тихо пред тялото на Господаря
и със мъка в очите преклоняват глава
в почит към абаносовата му красота.
Всички ангели плачат с плач тихо смирен
че на дивната хубост всеки грях е простен.
И така продължава от безкрай до безкрая:
Злото ражда Доброто, и обратно-до края!
Лайк холи шит! Толкова е наивно глупаво, че чак е трогателно.
По-нататък следват разни неща, които писах по поръчка на един приятел за блек метъл групата Inspell. Решиха първият албум да е по текстове на Андерсен и ме хванаха да ги напиша. Обяснено ми беше, че искат да няма рима и ритъм, щото така щяло да е по-лесно да се нагоди текста към музиката. В началото се чудех на български ли да бъдат, на английски ли, затова първата песен - Малката кибритопродавачка я има и в двата варианта. Българският между другото взе, че спечели трето място на някакъв конкурс на сайта Откровения. Ама така и не си получих грамотата
Малката кибритопродавачка
Замръзнал сняг
И здрач на иглести кристали.
В агония предсъртна времето лети.
Една година ще умре, но от праха й друга
ще се въздигне. Кървав кръговрат.
А хората не виждат.
За тях това е празник.
Забързани нозе към собствена вселена.
Забързани слепци в егоистичното си щастие.
Слепци по своя воля. Невиждащи.
Дете.
Продава светлина, но слепите не искат.
Стена.
Замръзнали са детските ръце.
Към светла топлина е устремен животът във тези крехки пръстчета.
И пламъкът расте. Замръзнала фантазия.
Видения на тъй желания уют във клечица кибрит.
Дом. Обич. И усмивка.
Звезда щастливо пада.
Отиващ си живот във сънената смърт.
Нов ден. Ново начало.
Но старата година не умря сама.
Английски вариант (личи му, че е нескопосан превод, нес-па?):
Such frozen snow
and dusk in spiny crystals
In agony of death the time is flying fast
One year now will die but from its dust another
will be arisen in this sanguinary circuit.
But the people don't see this.
They think a feast is coming
Such quicken feet toward their private universe
Such quicken blind men in their selfish bliss
Blind men at their own will. As blind they cannot see.
A little child.
She's selling light, but those men do not want it.
A wall
The shiny little hands are frozen
The fragile little fingers determined to the sweet bright warmth
The flame is growing. A frozen fantasy is on.
Bright visions of desired coziness into the fire of a match
Home. Love. And smile.
A star is falling happily
А sinking life into the sleepy death
New day. And new beginning.
But the old year didn't die alone.
Отстаналите текстове (само на английски):
The brave tin soldier
"You'll never enter in a combat, soldier.
A crippled soldier, a vulgar herd.
Your flesh is lead and though you're proud your blood's not blue
How dare you spot with simple eyes her face, her home, her noble kind
How dare you hope...
It's midnight, so behold the sweet delightful orgy of the toys
and hear the jabber of your brothers,and hear their laugh.
Take down, take down elated look and see the rank where you belong.
You do not answer? Are we unworthy for your highness words?
Beware, you soldier with one leg! Your silence will be payed!"
Go ahead soldier, be not afraid of death!
А fall, a paper boat, a river
Dark waters chew the tiny tissue.
A womb, a darkness, a knife, a light
Salvation maybe?
No!
A fire!
Red flames which kiss the leaden flesh
And thus it start to melt
A breeze of wind, a highborn paper made
who sink into the crimson sea...
A paper and a lead,dying together in this inferno red.
So when the fires vanished two shining wounds into the freezing ash -
a golden star and leaden heart-marked the tomb of those who died.
Little Ida's flowers
Tender whispering fills the dark depths of the night
Running steps coalesce with sweet laugh
Hollow voices exude in the great desert hall
making the sleepy peace to explode.
The curtains are quietly lifting up now
releasing the moon beams from their brocade jail...
And lo!
Lo the dance of the flowers-
divine kaleidoskope of green leaves and fresh blossoms.
Feel the fragrant endearment of this fragile flesh.
(and) join this misterious dance!
Green pedicels coil one to another,
and leaves touch the leaves in a hungry embrace,
аnd golden-bloom raindrops cover the dancers
ensnared in a cobweb of fast pirouettes.
The atmosphere shudders of passions forbidden,
the saps pulse in green veins like one only heart.
Some withered old beauties (are) seducing the young flesh
desiring to join this snobbish masquerade.
(Thus) join this furious dance!
The music absorbes all the tunes of the night
Disharmony marches unveiled
The banished sweet Eden dances tonight,
so feel this erotic despair...
For the freshness tomorrow will vanish
for the life tomorrow will end
for this ball tonight is the last one
fot the flowers tomorrow 'll be dead
So join this chaotic dance!
The wild swans
What is it
to own the horizon
to spread your white wings and compete with the wind
to break every chain that holds you on earth
Boreas and Poseidon to be your vassals?
(A freedom so fake!)
What is it
to be captured in curse,
to have human's heart enslaved in bird's chest,
to observe in your body this pitiless war
where instincts and rationality are foes?
(A struggle so cruel!)
A brotherhood of swans -
mute, sorrowfull creatures,
your bills are widely open in vain
but your screams of pain can be read
in the desperate dance of your elegant necks.
Victims of meaningless evil,
victims of envy that rules human's souls
the sun holds the key to your feathery prison
and only its death your cages unlock.
To whom you'll entrust your salvation,
whose fingers and feet the nettle will eat,
and who will burden his being with anguish
and who will with silence the omen defeat?
A blood of your blood hides the answer
One suffering soul eleven will save
А това са 5-те части на Ледената кралица:
Narration:
Hear this icy story
A story of those ancient times
when the Devil, once defeated by the hand of God, arose again
for one last battle...
Is it a story of a friendship or a love?
Who knows, who knows...
Part One:
About the mirror and its pieces
In the beginning there was a flame
which breeded the dance of the shadows
under the vivid sounds of the forge
through the silvery-sulphur perfume of the dusk.
A shining river of liquid glass
erupted from the desert sands,
disgorged into the melted sea,
into the hellish throat so deep.
The black craftsman was working!
Gazing into the glittering mixture
his eyes could foresee
and what he saw just turned him to laughter,
'cause the humans would finally pay
for his anguish and years of pain!
With lips he touched the crystal lava
and granted it with his breath and blood
and in the still and glowing surface
he sealed his own reflection thus.
"The Shepherd won't save them this time
for I will give them my child!"
This devilish mirror, a slayer of beauty
was marching proudly devastating the world,
leaving behind such mournful sights,
leaving a taste of ash in the souls.
But it wasn't enough...no, it wasn't enough!
Its last aim was the sun...
And into the howling winter sky it flew
toward the cold-yellow disk of light
writhing in pain because of the beams
Higher and higher reaching the heat,
Higher and higher shouting in agony
Higher and higher captured in rays
Higher and higher tearing its flesh
Higher...EXPLOSION!!!
....................................
And on the frozen ground that shakes
some tiny crystal pieces were mixing with the snowflakes.
Part 2
The town is great, the town is big
the people - unknown - all without faces
they're walking around, they're working around
thousands of grey puppets with their fake lives
But into this vast ocean of madness
among the dead shells
of mutilate selfs
a little sanctuary stands:
two homes of poverty that treasures
the biggest treasure - the gift of youth
the warmth delightfull of two children
beneath the roses of their childhood.
A boy, a girl, in bond so pure,
who play their childish games with joy
and hand in hand they sing their oath
and watch the sky, and watch the snow
and hear the story of the bees and their ice queen...
But will their bliss last forever?
For a foe is hiding in the flakes -
two poison-crystal parts that aim
their little open eyes and hearts
A sudden pain...the devil got the boy...
And from this day the colors died for his new eyes
and hollow pit the world became
untill at once he saw the queen -
so fair, so calm, so out of reach,
a gleaming goddess of silky ice,
a scewed reflection of pure perfection
One heart of ice another recognized,
her splendour touched his cursed eyes
Two frozen kisses burnt his flesh -
she marked him as her own
and flew with him away...
Part 3
"He's dead" she cried out to the vernal sky
but the vernal sky denied it...
"He's dead" she cried out the shining sun
but the shining sun denied it...
"He's dead" she cried out to the swallows
but even they denied it...
For he's alive, the waking nature knows.
And hearkening in this triple denial
she tore her mournful crape and gowns
and left her home to find him...
Step after step, the road has no end,
no rest through the infinite dusty curves
that chase the chantings of the river.
They lead her tired steps into a secret place -
a garden where the magic dwells
and in the spells she lost her way.
So many days she wasted in the blossoms
enchanted by their fragrant tales -
the fiery lily's pile or ivy's songs of knights,
the sweet dellusion of the daffodil
the hyacinths' lament for youth that dies...
in vain she wandered there until
the roses' voices woke her sleeping memories
and thus she ran away into the falling leaves...
She rambled with days seeking direction
asking her weeping heart where to go
'till the nature took pity on her desperate cry
and sent her the black wise bird as a guide
It flies through the snow leaving black marks behind
so thus by following its feathery arrows
she entered a castle haunted by dreams.
And there she walks through the pale silluettes
of men in their armours cought in their wars
and dancing fair women with phantasmal smiles -
dark-transparent visions that swim in her flesh.
But his dreams weren't there...
So she abandoned this ghostly infants of the moon,
and left the sleeping palace in the velvet night...
Part 4
The hibernating forest lies
like a dead corpse in its snowy shroud
as she walks through its empty aorta...
She hearkens in the windy pseudo breath
of this cold and wooden lungs, is all this nature dead?
No!But she can't feel the stubborn pulses
of this enormous body's microphlorus
though she can hear its living heart -
a brigands' camp enlighted by a roaring fire
where all those forest's children wild are taking rest.
They captured her - the one who dared to trespass
and now she has to be the fragile toy
into the caprice hands of the ringleader's daughter
And in this cage she learnt the truth!
Her doom, his doom - they lie in north
into the palace of the queen of snow
She knows now where to go...
She knows now how to go...
Breaking in a gallop, faster than the thought
the deer is running wild as she spurs it in the dawn,
the snow flee softly moaning from beneath its striking hooves
as this fury lightning is flying to the north.
She rides the deer toward two snowy homes of wisdom -
two unexpecting allies in the icy wastes,
two great women sage beneath the burden of the age.
So they revealed the truth - she heard the mirror's story,
she learnt about the crystals which stab his eyes and heart
She knows now where to fight...
she knows now how to fight...
And on the snowy battlefield she meets the armies of the queen -
enormous flakes in monstrous forms reflecting evilly the northern lights
all rolling madly on the blinding ground, surrounding her...
But from her breath colliding with the frozen air,
from this dimention where her warmth met ice,
another shining army was spawned -
thousands warriors of vapour, armed with thousands spears and swords
running through the blazing flakes, spilling haggardly their blood so cold
untill this animated snow which guards the palace of the queen
was pacified annihilated covering its icy treshold.
This battle is over but another one is at hand
so with her naked feet caressed by her soldiers hands
she set off for the palace doors...
Part 5
There it stands tremendous like the winter
a glacier palace sculptured by the winds
a crystal anchor absorbed in the earth
a dream made of snow...
And through the vast and hollow halls
escorted by the cold laments
of howling organ of the storms,
and underneath the chandellier of Aurora Borealis
she walks, she seeks...
She seeks a life in place so dead
A gasp caressed her frozen cheeks
and brought a trace of human warmth,
she ran to find this living hearth,
step after step 'till reached the doors
that lead toward a chamber dressed in white.
White gleaming tapestries of ice so fine,
white frozen floor - a frozen lake
with surface broken in the perfect chaos -
pure paradise of geometry -
the mirror of the reason.
And on this august postament а white throne stands,
the throne is empty...
But in its shadow hidden, sunk in thoughts
the boy is gazing at some pieces-
the icy puzzle of the reason -
the snowy mistery that holds
the key for opening his prison.
A sacred word engraved in human's will
the word eternity....
Последното свършва малко особено, но така настояха от групата. Може да им писна от моите текстове и затова.
класически блечец ли е? 
) 
