Highland Gully

‘Thread fairly, cast your evil behind’ – a witchmother advised me before I left the busybody city
I promised to become a better man, continuously repeated proverb of hell.
Different genius of ’tis place, mountaineous spirits different, rough like highlanders.
The auroch-headed man greeted me on the first night,
He was a highlander of some remote past
His shade most likened to the extinct animal
An unwilling shaman, a nature’s similarity?
Was he bound by a curse or by fate?
Curiosity never pays off, let it be!
Some like it in the shadows, it is their beloved contemplative place,
As I moved through the valleys, the ghosts curiously stared,
Dancing on the sun rays of our Great God,
Among fiery angels of Hyperion,
A whisper at night, a little child said: “Mother, he can see us”
She stared with an unfleshed bony sense
Masquarade belongs to them, they appear
Beautiful in masks, when they take them off
There are just skulls and weird sights ahead,
Cigarette, coffee, balcony, a rapid river nearby,
Some slender shadows overarching me,
The more suffered, the taller the dead souls left behind,
There are tribes of the lares that do not seek dissolution,
They are neither malignant, nor evil nor good,
They live among their kin, just like we do.
Just like spirits of life, they seem to like it where they are,
They possess tourists and travellers to earn senses,
The living wouldn’t notice anyway.
And the dead mercifully do not violate the minds,
They want the company of life just for a fleeting while,
Sometimes they chat me up through the living,
Then I speak not to the interlocutor, but to them.
That is a mantic skill, to prophetize with them,
It is a craft and an art, to talk with the dead, while
Not betraying it to the living ones,
Somehow they know I know, the living forget
The words said in-between the lines
The random slips of sentences and ideas,
It is written in the language of the shadows,
All over my skin and my vamphyr’s nigredo soul.

New Year ahead, I’ll celebrate
Another year of survival won, another
Bright dim hermit’s lantern of hope ahead,
For some content and essence,
For some genius and inspiration,
For the gods of little things,
And for friends of the other world.

I shall raise a toast!

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