Gamayun and the Child of Autumn – A Dialogue

Note: Within first the Iranian and then the Russian folklore, Gamayun is the symbol of knowledge and wisdom. In the myth, she appears in the form of a prophetic bird, who resides on a lonely island situated somewhere in the east. As she knows everything about the true nature of human beings, gods, creation, and eternity, her prophecies are divine and magical – though difficult to comprehend and understand.


The night is silent and Gamayun sits atop a lonely rock, looking down on a landscape of magical lights and dark smoke. A gentle breeze is blowing from the northeast, carrying faint shades of some long-lost and ancient fragrance.

Suddenly, she senses a presence – there is someone beckoning her attention from the shadows. Gamayun raises her hand and commands:

Come forth! O child of misery and gloom; 

step forward and seek, even if it is your doom

Come forth! O dweller of grey desolation;

Beg for wisdom, if it’s of any consolation

The presence crawls forward, his tired knees digging deep grooves in the sand. He grabs hold of Gamayun’s feet and cries his heart out:

O Gamayun! The wise and the knowledgeable;

here I am, laying all my cards on the table

O Gamayun! The herald of divine prophecies;

all my dark visions unfolded, terrible atrocities

O Gamayun! Spread your golden wings in the sun;

for I am desperate and making my last run

O Gamayun! Behold my pain and tell me what I ask;

see this darkness, it is very real, it is not a mask  

Of all the God’s children, I am the child of autumn;

the failure is so terribly deep, that there is no bottom

I am not alone I know, yet unique in what I need;

I feel like a hollow dead tree, with neither fruit nor seed

It is not that I demand either wealth or riches or gold;

I just beg that my dream be fulfilled, single and untold

It is not that I ask for life everlasting or a great power;

I just implore that my heart be happy, not bitter or sour


Sensing the man’s anguish and hearing his plea, Gamayun bends down her head and thinks for a while. She carefully prods her heart but finds nothing but dark tidings. She finally raises her head and whispers back:

You have come from afar – have my sympathies with you;

my heart weeps for you, yet there is nothing I can really do

Having asked your question, you have unburdened yourself;

your cause is lost, and what to tell you, I am lost myself

Of all the God’s many children, you are the most despised;

He made all his children out of love, all of them prized

You dream in vain, you cry in vain and you beg in vain;

He carved you out of sadness, dark soil, and cold rain

He hates you with a vengeance so very terrible and dark;

His distaste for you is so very naked and so very stark

He looks at you with pity though, the most what He can spare;

you may die or you may suffer, that He doesn’t at all care 

Being a child of autumn, it is a dark curse you carry;

you will always be sad and you will never be merry

It is your burden and your fate, how dark it may seem;

abandon all hope, you will never get what you dream


Up there, sitting on His golden throne, God listens to all and smiles a tired smile. He is the wisest of all and the most powerful. Yet He is lonely because his wisdom goes beyond the understanding of mortals. He looks down kindly upon the child of autumn and his heaving shoulders; and whispers softly:

‘O Child of Autumn – you tread a treasured path;

yet you are blinded by grief, your fate a bloodbath

Of all my children, you are the most blue-eyed;

all my children are loved, you are the most prized

You dream in my way; an immense imagination;

I carved you out of wisdom, foresight, and adoration

I love you with an intensity, so very focused and clear;

it might appear as abstract, but I hold you so dear

I make you feel the pain and the agony of all others;

so you may suffer the suffering of your brothers

Being a child of autumn, it is not a curse you carry;

it makes you all patient so that you don’t tarry

It is not a dark burden, but a blessing filled with light;

with understanding comes wisdom, lofty and bright

Go in peace my child, go and serve the world and life;

you will grow and learn to walk the edge of a knife’ 

#English #poetry #poem #opera #Gumayun #God #misery #anguish #path #life #test #kindness #life #death #wisdom #help #love #light #darkness #curse

Hope in the Darkest Hour

It is your time, my friend – your darkest hour;

seemingly the end, joys and sorrows at par

All seems lost; and all seems dour;

all appears grey; and smiles are all sour


Read more: Hope in the Darkest Hour

You sitting by that grave; yes you – the old hag,

appearing to be brave, holding onto your old bag

Why do you sob and why do you weep?

Was it your son, whom you loved so deep?

Please, do not cry; wipe off all these tears; 

he is not gone; pray hush all your fears

Look into your heart; you will find him there;

he is but a memory; with a face so fair


It is your time, my friend – your darkest hour;

seemingly the end, joys and sorrows at par

All seems lost; and all seems dour;

all appears grey; and smiles are all sour


You holding a broken toy; yes you – the poor boy,

crying your heart out, you have lost all joy

Why do you sob and why do you weep?

Was it a treasure, you intended to keep?

Please, do not cry; do not be cross; 

it is but the first step on the stairway to loss

More toys will come, each precious and dear;

happiness and wonder, each new year


It is your time, my friend – your darkest hour;

seemingly the end, joys and sorrows at par

All seems lost; and all seems dour;

all appears grey; and smiles are all sour


You, lost in your reverie; yes you – the old man; 

all sick and tired, separated from your clan

Why are you sad and why are you so glum?

Do you feel bad on what you have become?

Please, do not be sad; do not detest yourself; 

it is but the destiny, life always solves itself

Your life was but a chapter, in the grand book of life;

your soul was but a traveler, playing the merry fife


It is your time, my friend – your darkest hour;

seemingly the end, joys and sorrows at par

All seems lost; and all seems dour;

all appears grey; and smiles are all sour

#English #poetry #poem #time #life #dark #desperation #sadness #hope #light #darkness #death

The Last Dream of the Dying Lighthouse

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Before its stones collapse into darkness, the old lighthouse imagines a final blaze of glory that never comes.

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The eagle soared high above the purple sea,

dark wings embracing the darkness of the night

A lonely lighthouse stood its vigil, tall and free,

alone on the shore, a noble and honorable knight

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Diving down and below, the eagle peered closely,

and his mighty heart was filled with a heavy sorrow

The lighthouse was crumbling down and in ruins, mostly,

it may have had a wonderful past, but no tomorrow

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The lonely lighthouse was very old, now just a token,

its tall structure, draped and cloaked in grey shadows

The glass lantern was long shattered and broken,

who broke it, and why and when? Who really knows?

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The sea was cruel and was full of wind and storms,

terribly angry and high waves venting frustration

Breaking apart furiously in white foam of many forms,

the foundation badly shaking, but still holding station

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The storms wrecked ships and boats, big and small,

hundreds of souls lost, and at sea, they all perished

The lighthouse stood on the shore and watched them all,

the loss was dire; there was nothing to be cherished

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It served no noble purpose or aim, no, not anymore,

a lighthouse devoid of any beacon or shining light

Being old and crumbly did not make him any sore,

having no light was its biggest tragedy and plight

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He just stood alone and prayed to God Almighty,

he prayed for nothing else but one single last chance

A last chance to fulfill his only purpose and legacy;

a dying shaman pleading and begging for a last dance

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Maybe God listened to him as He is kind and benevolent,

plucking a burning star from the heavens, He tossed it down

Hitting the tower, it exploded in embers, an event so malevolent,

but it lit the beacon, making the lighthouse wear a gold crown

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‘Ah! I have fulfilled my legacy, and now I can die satisfied’,

the lighthouse loudly yelled its last-ever cry of sheer joy

Very briefly, it was alight, at least it seemed as if it tried,

but to the wandering and lost ships, it sure cried ‘ahoy!’

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The eagle soared high above the dark, inky depth,

watching the shooting star and the high-burning fire

Sadly watching the lighthouse crumbling, it’s sad death,

he prayed for its noble soul over the burning pyre

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But, no desires were fulfilled that fateful, dark night,

God was busy elsewhere; there was no grand scheme

It was peaceful, no shooting stars, no fire, and no light

Alas! the lighthouse was only dreaming its last dream

Hope in Your Darkest Hour

Loss comes in many forms: a son in the ground, a toy in pieces, a life nearly spent - but hope whispers the same message to each broken heart.

A tender, empathetic poem that addresses three figures experiencing profound sorrow: an elderly mother grieving her son, a young boy mourning a broken toy, and an old man facing mortality. Through a recurring refrain that acknowledges “your darkest hour,” this consoling verse offers a gentle perspective on different scales of loss - from childhood disappointments to the finality of death.

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It is your time, my friend, it is your darkest hour,

it is seemingly the end, joys and sorrows at par

All seems lost, and all seems dour,

all appears grey, and smiles are all sour

___________________________________________

You sitting by that grave, yes, you, the old hag,

appearing to be brave, holding onto your old bag

Why do you sob and why do you weep?

Was it your son, whom you loved so deep?

Please, do not cry, wipe off all these tears,

he is not gone, pray hush all your fears

Look into your heart, you will find him there,

he is but a memory away, with a face so fair

___________________________________________

It is your time, my friend, it is your darkest hour,

it is seemingly the end, joys and sorrows at par

All seems lost, and all seems dour;

all appears grey, and smiles are all sour

___________________________________________

You holding a broken toy, yes, you, the poor boy,

crying your heart out, you have lost all joy

Why do you sob and why do you weep?

Was it your treasure, you intended to keep?

Please, do not cry, do not be cross,

it is, but the first step on the stairway to loss

More toys will come, each precious and dear,

more toys will come with each new year

___________________________________________

It is your time, my friend, it is your darkest hour,

it is seemingly the end, joys and sorrows at par

All seems lost, and all seems dour,

all appears grey, and smiles are all sour

___________________________________________

You, lost in your reverie, yes, you, the old man,

all sick and tired, separated from your clan

Why are you sad, and why are you so glum?

Do you feel bad about what you have become?

Please, do not be sad, do not detest yourself,

it is, but our destiny, life always solves itself

Your days were a chapter in the grand book of life,

your soul was a traveler on the path to the afterlife

___________________________________________

It is your time, my friend, it is your darkest hour,

it is seemingly the end, joys and sorrows at par

All seems lost, and all seems dour;

all appears grey, and smiles are all sour

The Anatomy of Love

Real love isn’t found in kisses—it’s found in the darkness you’re willing to accept.

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Love comes not,

when you kiss her smiling lips and turn your feelings South,

and find them sweet and moist, past that formidable pout

And love comes not,

when you hold her hand and choose to kiss her bitter mouth,

and find it sour and so parched, her sadness, an eternal drought

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Love comes not,

when you lie down together, the naked you with the naked her,

her warmth entwined with yours, and the feelings that you stir

And love comes not,

when you hold your ego in check and laugh and cry with her,

the silly mistakes you commit, and the boundaries that you blur

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Instead, love comes,

when you walk in her shoes and choose to fight her fight,

finding all that is absolutely dark, and finding all that is light

And love comes,

when you feel the warmth with joy and own the day with pride,

when you walk the path to darkness, you trace the origin of night

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Love really comes,

when you sneak into her soul, and see the real wreckage,

finding all that is rotten, the ugly weight of her baggage

And love really comes,

When you search for her broken heart and find the only passage,

owning all that is rotten, sharing the burden of her baggage