Eitan Olevsky

Writer | Escritor

Month: December 2017 (page 1 of 4)

Loss of the Goldenlight (Poem)

Goldenlight eternal reflected on ice-capped waters,
Summer bright paradise of cold heat.
Heavenly white’s prints of polar bear feet,
Black as a reminder of a plight that really matters.

At the slow tip-tap of a ceaseless drummer,
Icy tears drop into an Arctic sea
Making the Hyperborean’s dream a plea:
“If our crust melts, what will be of our unfading summer?”

Epochs of War (Poem)

Epochs of war cry shrill

whence reign the shafts of steel,

that under cloudless deaths

brings seeds upon its breaths.

 

They heed not kings of birth

but ravage lands of old,

sucking the entire earth

from flames that blend to gold.

 

Fortune drops asunder,

torn upon its thunder

when the moon shears the sun

gloomily on the run.

Ending Realm (Poem)

As the day arises in dark contemplation,

A shrewd path gains my admiration,

Through gates of gold,

And silver bold,

Where heaven’s breath,

Is mighty as death,

I shall see within a rhyme,

The finite realms of time,

Slowly,

Passing by.

Death of a King (Poem)

Through everglades of pine forests,

beneath patterns of twigs and branches,

packs of wolves roam,

howling endlessly at a lit moon

contrasted in the darkness.

 

A shrill cry can be heard,

beyond thickets of bushes,

past ivy thorns and wild grass.

 

Farther from the river’s crossing

lies the stone covered bridge,

leading onward.

 

Crossing wooden gates of an ancient castle

a room lies dormant upon the carpeted hall.

Behold!  There is no future,

for the merciless soul of misfortune

has brought a murder within its shade.

Shall our reign prosper, if by chance,

daylight succeeds.

Betrayal of the Luckless (Poem)

It is the clear ingratitude gone against us,

what takes us to bring havoc upon our enemies out in the sea.

We stare at our merciless enemies

hoping to find a path upon rushing bellows of high tide.

Our gloom old vessel, lightened only by the sparks of darkened clouds,

roams lost.

All nature raves against us,

when all we wanted was justice.

Now we shall die dishonored,

torn by the sea,

shred by the jagged coastal rocks of our own nation.

Three-sided Sword (Poem)

Infinitely delighted Ontario,
delights with fingers to the lake.
He points his fellows, bent dark upon the map.
Lips repeat the coveted treasure:

A sword, gift to curiosity, broad, and three-sided,
Snake of war-gods, conceived by eagle’s claws.
Formed beast and bird — serpentine hard and highly polished.

A weapon fierce, of silver and gold, ivory and battle.
Hideous thing regarded with mysterious awe,
Bringing along delight, the eagle-beaked monster,
Curiosity, producing him again.

Tick Tick Ticking (Poem)

Clocks tick

continuously unceasing,

telling us indifferently

how life has been decreasing.

 

Our days are gone

when times are lost,

and seasons die

in times of frost.

 

When old age renders

the juvenile soul

to strike and bowl,

death, has come.

Vientos (Poema)

Soplos de la noche

corren taciturnos,

sin ritmo ni trasnoche,

sin cielo de canciones,

en las tardes del soroche.

 

Soplos del día,

reflejan luz de valles,

mientras sombras se escondían

entre angostas calles.

 

Soplos de la noche,

Soplos del día,

corriendo sin reproche,

sin falsa la osadía,

navegando por los aires.

Silencio (Poema)

Gaviotas colorean los mares en un oleaje de primavera.

Vuelve a mí viento perdido, voz de los océanos,

y aleja las tempestades y sus gritos de fuego.

Dispara relámpagos como dardos hacia mis enemigos,

y déjame a mí yacer en un colchón de aguas dulces.

 

En mi corazón prima el silencio,

el tamborileo profundo de noches sin retorno.

Dagas oscurecen la verdad.  Sácalas y el mundo se desangra.

Sus misterios por ende yacen,

ocultos bajo libros de piedras.

Rieles del Tiempo (Poema)

Triste retrueno de rieles

anuncian la ida de seres queridos

con un lento venir,

con un sigiloso despedir.

 

Un agudo tintineo,

anuncia el tiempo

ya llegado a su fin

mientras viscosos humos de estribor

cubren vela sobre la reciente penumbra.

 

El cielo apagado,

opacado por la lejanía del tren

ya se aleja,

dejando atrás la amarga desolación

de llantos y murmullos.

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