Poetic Verse of the Crimean Tatars

Poetic Verse of the Crimean Tatars


The Dungeon
Keeper
(Revised Version)


The dark, damp, deep dungeons where seldom sunlight seeks, Here, all cease to speak, and feeble muffled echoes, ripple At the Dungeon Keeper’s feet! Here all will forget, they once lived, Time is stagnant in the granite keep, Chained by neck and feet (No crosses please): Much time to contemplate Those old propositions once made— Now too late to seek, In this utter darkness where Silence and solitude reek.

“Yea, yea!” exclaims the Dungeon Keeper “You are all my guests (No future in it, only madness) But they come all the same Down here in the deep, Deep Granite dungeons Where I never sleep…”

Where walls speak, Blink, have dark secrets: They have unconquerable spirits in these dungeons below where looming footsteps, never fatigue, remain cold, and slimy bodies roam…

These cold walls have feet, instinctively they groan Wiggle about and moan, they do not know defeat—

This is no dream it is awoken reality! Where creative havoc runs loose

And so says the Dungeon Keeper who never sleeps “It is my birthright to wake the guest’s night after night, Revenge is sweet!”

Written 2006, revised 9/2010

The Haunted
Catacombs
Of Ellora

The dark, deep haunted Catacombs of Ellora never see the light of day, Here, all cease to speak, but a few muffled echoes in prayer, in the keep, the cave temples and monasteries deep in the bowls of the earth (of the fifth century AD), here the ripples of time seek harmony. Here, once represented the epitome of Indian rock-cutting, hollowed out from the face of the Charanandri hills. Time remains stagnant in these temples, cut out of rock, chained together by neck and feet (where once, Buddhist, Hindu and Jain priests, uttered in darkness and solitude: this is where—the dungeon keeper sleeps.

“Nay, nay!” cries the Dungeon Keeper, long dead, from his stone cut bed, now his coffin. The tall granite walls now speak for him, the dark secrets, where once indomitable spirits dominated, now lurk and weep, looming like wingless bats from cave to cave in madness, waiting for new guests Down here in the deep, catacombs of Ellora where still the dungeon keeper sleeps…

These tall carved walls, carved out of the vertical face of the Charanandri hills, have a pulse, instinctively they groan, and moan, for the return of the Dungeon Keeper’s bones, as they run loose with mayhem throughout the Catacombs, in sweet revenge for their once sweet friend, the Dungeon Keeper, waiting, just waiting for guest, for revenge, for mayhem.

Note: 9-5-2010 (2776)

The Praise Seekers
(A Manifestation, of the Rich and Famous)


To the Praise Seekers: the poor and the proud are untamable, unless one is with them all-in-all, and a leader at that: one recognized, by them. But once won, you won them until death. But don’t try unless you’re committed and ambitious.

No: 2778 (9-5-2010)

Dedicated to Ashley Judd; Sean Penn; Julie Roberts;
Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie



The Old Rook

The old crow, still sits on top of the treetop, looking down on me, as if I should live three score and ten, if I should, then, I shall climb that tree, and share my views and wishes with him, he’s the only one left, I can call friend, who is from my world, in my time, who understands: both he and I have aged, dulled by old ambitions, few possibilities: ahead, in this new world order, where honor is nearly dead!

No: 2779 (9-5-2010)