Post 77. To the Woman from Kazan.

To the Woman from Kazan, Russia.

Oh woman from Kazan,

oh lady of whose unkown eyes’ the light

the sunlight now obscures

in my mind’s eyes with a splendor

that from now on

equal shall know

in the Cosmos of my consciousness

of neither to sun or even nuclear fire

a comparison.

My life shall never be the same

since when those Roses of Gold

Thou sent to me

riding the Internet waves

messaging me of undeserved love

unknown and unexpected

that now even rivals halas,

in addition to the sun’s rays

the Lord’s Grace that we poor mortals

need to fill our life on earth

with cause, purpose, reason and aim,

but that halas resolved is only

in the mistery and a belief of Faith.

My life shall never be the same

as enhanced Thou hast it with Thy Grace

that rivals as I said even God’s Grace .

Nay it is not exactly so

as the learned and wise of old

would say that Grace is but One

and hast one source alone

and that is the one that

the Father of us all and of the Cosmos is

in which, like a Queen you live.

Halas still a mistey is to me

the reason for such from Thee a noble gift,

making the gift even more like unto a gift of Grace

that means in the ancient latin language gratis ’for free’

as agape’ alone of all forms of love

can be of Grace the unconditional and unreasoned gift.

As in the christian ‘AVE MARIA’

that to our Lady, the Mother of Jesus

sweetly directed is, to you oh Lady from Kazan

I say-: AVE oh one filled with Grace.


Oh woman from Kazan,

from there where the mighty Volga River

that to countless myths told and untold is source,

as all such steppe-rivers are,

since when 10,000 years ago or about so

when the ice began to melt

the ancient harbingers of

our present global warming,

its vast cleavage that an icon is


of vast visceral, maternal powers .

a liquid path supplied to summer migrations

of Thy valiant steppe-sires

before the taiming of the swift horse

by the ubiquitous Scythian lords,

perchance the invisible of love a bond

that made you to delight me

with Thy Roses of Gold,

existed between our souls,

even 10,000 years ago.

Yes, 10,000 years ago or so about,

when my celtic tribe left the caspian shores

that flooded used to be by your Volga

like a yearly Great Flood,

that to their superstitious minds' bents

and to those of their Shamans' too,

unknowing,

could only speak of the gods’ displeasure on high,

and everyone thought the events would never end,

then,

thus causing us to move westward

away from where your love is now,

in Kazan there where the mighty Volga

ceases from its hurried, tumbling torrential, noisy strains,

and of a noble, and majestic, silent, queenly maiden

the slow, measured steps assumes

as the Georgian dancers do-------

when in a linear or even in an orbital dance

effortlessy glide, their heavely steps by long gown hidden,

while holding white kerchiefs that of surrender speack to love

to the men them ogling with desire and longing------

Yes, the tale of my celtic tribe’s march to the Far West

is epic indeed

and of the Muses I need all help

that of Himalayas’ high peaks

inhabit the heights since when the islamic hordes

Greece tainted with their greed for domination

the peaks of Mount Olympus have left for the Himalayas,

there where Buddhaa Sidharta

mightily preached and lived,

in a march that would last halas,

12,000 yerars or so about

until I received your reminder

in Australia Fair,

of the Bond that perchance us so joins.



The Story of the celtic tribe

of which I told you above

I wish the Muses to help me to unfold

that from the Romans its present name acquired

when the Romans they fought in 100 BC

on the alpine passes that lead

from of Italy’s the Aosta Valley

through Switzerland,

by skirting heavenly looking Geneva Lake,

to of Gaul the Rhone Valley.


The name was a death-wish

the Roman Legions hurled to the tribal Gauls

that them harassed on narrow alpine passes,and wasd the wish that they would end murdered in their turn.

Ferrerii was the maudling Romans’ cry as they died,

and the cry was made by the Gauls their own

not as a curse any longer

but as of honour the badge

that testified to those to follow

of their valiant stand outnumbered

on these their own alpine lands.

against of Rome the might.

(unfinished)