Stale Wine or How the Carriage Went Further

Summoning light mornings over the dark of night
You will brave reconciliation while asleep.
Knocking frozen doors with hands ere so very white
Drowned in cherished wells are the tears of your own weep.
If one rejoices in folly and a flower
I should not want at all to spoil a merry day,
Since seventeen reaches elsewhere at this hour
I should not want to be a bore without repay.
Then if one laughs over the tears upon the floor,
Should I not want to cry for old times' sake?
In me I rest a bellow, bursting without core
Lingering away, broken lest it should break.
If one rejoices in secrets dull and tame,
I should not want to part before the guests are here.
Before I go yet, accept my placing of blame
Upon shoulders of my own - your weakness is too sheer.
And if I go, you should not cry, nor care at all
For I am merely an intrigue, and so I find
My run turns into walk, my walk into brave crawl
Noble as a scavenger, blank of my own kind.
But I need more paper, and you might need more time
Still I have none to give, so hopeless we're defied!
You may hear a voice, doubt not the chant is mine!-
Riot's a bliss, into your mind I've so long pried.

Aber

´Sollte ich sagen, deine Tränen irgendetwas in mir aufwachen, wäre ich ein Lügner, ohne irgendeine Freude zu erhalten. Es ist mir unbekannt, welcher von uns der Sieger ist, aber es gibt noch Hoffnung auf meiner Seite, dass du deinen Preis endlich siehst und geniesst,´ hört er mit traurigen Augen auf zu sprechen, und erwartete eine Anwort von ihr.

Sie schaute ihn an aber konnte nichts in seinem Gesicht bemerken, denn die sogenannten Tränen waren die Entdeckung einer neuen Art von Dunkelheit.

´Schwarz, nur schwarz,´ flüsterte sie und ging aus. Er verlor kein Moment noch und lief auch, um sie zu fangen. Hände festgepackt, rief sie, ´Lass mich los!´, und atmete schwer und trist.

´Was meintest du gestern bezüglich des Schnees und des Regnens?´

Sie schaute eine andere Richtung an. Am Wand gab es ein ungewöhnliches Bild, und ihre Augen blieben mehr als erwartet daran. ´Was soll man daraus verstehen?´ fragte sie.

Er erhöhte seine Augen, um es zu sehen. Die Antwort kam später, aber im Moment kam ihm im Gedächtnis nur, ´Das weiss ich nicht... wahrscheinlich ist das ein Grund.´

´Ach, du hast´s genommen sodass du eine weitere Chance hast, etwas als Essenz zu stellen.´

´Ja, ich glaube.´

´Und wohin bist du angekommen?`

Seine Augen wurden schwarz, nur schwarz.

´Welcher von uns ist der Schnee?´

´Na ja, du hast nicht die richtige Frage gestellt. An deiner Stelle hätte ich danach gefragt, ob du Regnen auch irgendwann werden sollst.´

´Sollte ich sagen, du bist eine Seltsamkeit und deswegen bist du meine Liebe, würde ich dich nicht belügen.´

Und

Vielleicht war der Schnee zu greifbar, und statt das Regnen zu beobachten, es war leichter, nur das weisse Meer anzuschauen. Natürlich waren wir ´unendlich´ bis zum Ende, und das Ende kam rechtzeitig, verloren irgendwo - trotzdem liess die zwölfte Stunde uns, die Kleinigkeiten zu bemerken, die Konsequenzen umzubenennen, die Herzen weiss zu malen, und dafür bin ich vielleicht ja dankbar.

´Es gibt ein Glück, das ohne Reu´ ist eine meiner Lieblingsspruche, da ich festgestellt habe, die Wahrheit nur eine weitere Entwicklung der Vorstellung ist. Darum bin ich enttäuscht davon, dass ich kein solches Gefühl noch in mir gefunden habe. War ich nicht kräftig genug, oder viel zu schwach, um mein Ziel zu erreichen, und zwar ein solches Glück zu ergreifen? Das habe ich mehrmals ihn gesagt, und ihn gezwungen dazu, mir dabei zu helfen. Aber solche Ziele sind vielleicht für leichtere Köpfe.

Und er schaute mich an, obgleich ich seine Augen fürchterlich fand und ihn es gesagt hatte, und er lächelte für uns beide, denn meine Kraft war einer anderen Art zum Punkt, und er versuchte, mich zu flüstern, ´Deine Augen finde ich schreklich zu treffen, nun finde ich es leichter, den Himmel zu überschwemmen, als deinem Blick wiederzustehen.´

Und er schaute mich weiter an, und ich lächelte endlich, aber sagte nichts - und er kam zu mir, leise wie der Schnee, und flüsterte noch mal: ´Du bist nicht warm genug, um kalt zu sein,´ und verliess mich.

Stahl

Inzwischen wurde ich bewusst davon:
Choren singen nur für Seelen,
Heilig und hilfreich ja wollend,
Während ich für dich allein.
Andere fühlen sich erst wohl,
Recht und Gute nun zu wählen -
Nur morgen ist dir wiederholend
Ich bleibe doch mit dir so klein.
Choren singen nur zu jenen,
Hilflos und entbehrlich scheinend
Trotzdem singen sie mit Kräften
Deiner Angst und Bewusstsein.
Endlich habe ich mein Sinne,
Ich vermute´s weisst du nicht,
Nie werd´ ich noch mal verraten
Ehrlich sind wir doch noch weiter
Schau mich an und mach dir Sorgen,
Treu und liebend bleibe ich dir nicht!
Über alles steht mein Herz und ruft:
Türen schliessen, Fenster auch!
Zählst du noch? Doch, noch vielleicht.
Endlich atme ich wegfliegend, frei.

Day- and Nightdreams

His hold too firm yet cold - "Despise me!" - and cut below the stem, leave it intact - let growth see another sunrise in spring. "I have eyes to see and sense, you are not here."

And shards dripping, resonating inside my mouth, as I try to whisper, and retain but a smile - "your eyes..."

And I lose.

The blackened curtains, your old theatre in July, in nine-and-twenty acts you faced your fear; and all those flowers, aimed to fly - you caught no love in your grasp.

Off-stage I arranged my pride - "Shine, Pride, shine!" - but your eyes...

Your eyes too powerful, my pride tainted with shade, and my dragonflies left before yours. And I challenged my steps, farther and farther from where you'd always stand. For you'd always beam, Candle's dearest.

And I took a green road, and measured my steps in wings - one, one, one and lonely, alleine im Urwald; and you were lost in my sight - Pearly mist.

By your side lay my words, and you read them aloud; walls cringed with whatever you felt, for I know your heart was raising, and breathing, precious ideas in your head. "Love, let him see!"

Air on the G string - Hopefulness cried within me, and I called myself a friend.

Thirteenth night I felt disparaged, and I returned; you were distant, though not far.

And then came Fidelio, charming while seeing his very goal! Oh, had you no plan? I felt your eyes against me, but did not turn. I feared they'd flee away.

And then came my habit, and you rejoiced - for such beings you had not seen, alike in manner and defiance!

And I loved you, for you knew how to turn past into future.

Replace everything, and I'll come back. And your eyes will see and sense, and you'll hear then - "Remember that I love you."

Sheltered Birds

And you rest in me, and never raise your eyes
My wings in winter will carry you along
And place your faith in better promised isles,
The weaker I become, the more that you grow strong.

"Boldness be mine friend"

"What might that be, at this latest of hours?",
As the spy stormed in at midnight's fierce regard;
The king awakened, servants arised from slumber
"Dearest mine," said she who came in last.
"Majesty, thou hast sent for mine aid in battle,
I've searched a mile ahead, yet nothing found;
Enemy's threat is no longer to aspire fear, yet -"
"Then what reason hast thou to commence such noise,
Disturbing eyes that look thus cross on thee,
Have they no gravity upon thine sense, nor mind?"
"Forgiven be mine intrusion, yet ere I have news
From cherished cousin of thine, greatest king;
Mine attempt to regain silence from his part was vain,
Now but prepares he whom thou namest friend to fight
And armours shining in moon's glow I captured
Whilst riding among the trees of thine Black Forest."
"Thereto have I sent thee? Speechless have I been that day?
Have I not urged thee to make the forest round,
Enter it not? For thieves have their lair and hollow home,
For black 'tis called for good reason, and thou art weak;
Thine sword hath but fiery renown, on it thou can'st not rely,
I told thee, and I knew well mine words' good will -"
"Enough with the ranting," said the king's advisor,
"Thine Greatness hath rightfulness beside, still we cannot dwell!
Might I fancy quickened steps towards our aim?
It is but urgent that our army's wake and brisk."
The king turned to face his queen; her eyes were dry;
Yet her lips began to feign an incoming reply,
Lastly she whispered, only heard by him,
"Thou knowst well, perhaps better than the enemy;
And thou hast might of a thousand suns;
Rely but not on mine opinion, I entreat thee;
Go and return with peace's blade intact."
And not one blink did the king waste then;
He sent word to his knight-captain, that present he must be;
He sent men to the surgeon, salves and draughts to bring.
Yet one pigeon stood quiet in the cage, awaiting the note
That would send the signal to the blacksmith's forge.
The advisor followed the king's hastened steps to the study;
"Why should'st thou await dawn's full light?
Late is he whom time shallow seems, my lord!"
King's eyes were now black as water's nighty edge;
"May I serve as the kingdom's ideal, and hope I do
That thou shalst not lead me astray from my goal!
I shall protect everything that calls me their king,
And perhaps still alive I shall return hereto."
The advisor shook his head yet told him so,
"Mine king, I have no better purpose than to aid thee;
Here I must confess I know not thine reason
To wait time's passing and go away in light!
Indeed, I trust thou may defeat thine foes,
And return to thine queen with white hails of joy!"
The king perused the window's view, yet now he turned.
"I trust in this and believe thine council on good foundation;
Let there be no doubt then, I must go at once!
Good-bye, mine friend!"
"Farewell, mine king!"
And off he rode to the blacksmith's home at night.
"Hail, mine lord!" "Art thou awake, forgemaster?"
"Can I be otherwise, with such bustle roaming free?
I have heard such stories, mine king, and can barely believe!"
"Blessed art thou, with such family and friends;
Yet time's not mine; I must then speak thee fast:
Prepare thine best of armours, of thine power's great supply;
And swords, light yet sharp, thou hast thine gift and such.
I have come in person so thou may'st rest assured."
"I convey mine thanks, and promise thine Majesty thus,
I shall give mine best to protect thine kingdom,
And with every moment that thou shall fight thine cousin,
I shall forge an ally between faith, fist and iron."
And so the king left to warn the surgeon's gaze.
The door open, surgeon's eyes so swollen:
"Thine Majesty, at this night's hour!
Even robbers lie in sleep's good grace!"
"I need thine help, physicians are mostly required
In times of war; hast thou not heard?
We are in need of plenty of thine tonics,
Strongest or weak, whatever 'tis thou hast supplied."
"Mine lord, but stocks are empty, do forgive mine words!
With such plagues I fear I have given every last one away!"
The king's face paler grew, and stared the surgeon in the eyes,
And he, having one moment of insight, said more:
"Yet do not despair, the trader of the town must have these!
Yes, indeed, I saw it with mine own poor eyes, he does!
And so terrible the costs, I dare say, at overprice;
The poor die without hope, for this one reason!"
The king refreshed his eyes and rode much further,
Until he and his knights reached the market,
Where the merchant spent his life at night as well:
"Speak quick, tradesman, hast thou enough potions
So as to feed an army growing ill?"
The merchant blinked wildly and replied still asleep:
"Yes, indeed, to mankind's own desire!
Yet why art thou, mine lord, in so great a hurry?"
"Show mine people to thine rooms, and later we can talk."
The knights brought bottles of every healing juice,
And further then they went, to meet the captain's squires.
"Mine lord, I have gathered what was in mine powers,
Let there be no strife at this late hour,
These men will do with little, yet prove excellent in battle;
I've trained them hard for challenges like this,
Art thou content, thine Majesty, with them?"
The king's gaze perused every new face at once;
"Very well, mine captain, I shall return a winner,
For mine name itself states so, I know."
And off he rode ahead of the steady army,
To meet at the forest with the spy we knew.
"Hail, king victorious! We shall see thine glory,
For thou bearst the mightiest of names!
Hail, our king!"
The men rode off to meet their enemy.
Haunting forest's sound reduced by rain;
The moon's shy light became soon hidden
And darkness veiled everything in sight.
The king's own thoughts became less clear, and then he saw
Torches moving throughout the barrier of trees.
"Behold," he whispered, and at last the knight was set:
"Behold," they whispered, and heartbeat was none.
And then the lights went dark before them,
And so the rain captured every soul alive;
Sounds left and right were heard and then lost in the drops,
But still the presence of the enemy became so clear.
Still the others saw nothing of our king;
They wandered their eyes hereabouts as mad:
Alas, their leader cast an arrow
That flew directly over their heads
And stopped into a nearby muddy barrow.
Then swords were heard and rain was silent
And steps upon the dead leaves of the oak were heard
"Might I dare?", thought the king, and flew his bow,
Taking an arrow, aiming at what his fancy thought to be
The foe, and then a whistling and a moan there were.
Then hell unleashed, helmets dropping and swords airborne;
Armours crushing, horses fallen, heads cut off -
Night was cruel, and so turned they, images in head
Of lingering queens at window's sills.
Yet fought and fought, hundreds dead or fled;
Became less clear what for an aim was held -
Alas, a horrid cry came out, and then a shout:
"Mine king!"
The advisor stood silent, and on her chair,
The queen fed her hopes with dreams of madness -
"There must be a promise of his that I overlooked,
I should think otherwise he left for ever."
The nannies looked at her with pitiful eyes,
"And so young was he, and young is she as well!",
They contemplated while playing with the child
That would become king before too long.
"And how sad her thoughts must be, and how mistaken
Was he to believe that he'd survive the attack!"
And by the morning's touch men were sent to gather
Whatever the fight had left to be discovered.
Yet it was not until noon that they returned with news:
"No resting bodies, thine Majesty, were found!
Only black horses, slain with no compassion,
Yet our king's white mare we could not ere find!"
"No soldiers then, or knights, or peasants whatsoever?
Only those poor animals stood there as proof for us?
Then why don't I rejoice this wonderful day,
For I'm assured that he is not free, yet alive he is!"
And the queen danced throughout the castle, frightening the maids,
"Our queen's gone mad, her sanity is lost!"
But one and only thought could not give her rest:
"There can't be no one murdered, or perhaps there can be?
Yet what war is it, I entreat? No, perhaps every slain one
Was taken away, or buried even, by the foe;
I cannot think then that mine king is still alive and well!
No, I must find out, it is mine one duty, and for this, I swear
I will not close mine eyes till truth's before me!"
And so she went away, without no one's knowledge,
For her mission was too great to be tainted so.
The forest was behind her, far behind her steps,
But still no sign of fight, of steps, of man, of ending.
"Yet the rain can't have gone away without a trace!
I must find the prints of their pace's way!"
Yet the forest's rest soon vanished, trees were there again
And the queen's fearless heart became less so,
For monstruous beings were known to dwell therein
And what a king they'd do was for good reason worse
Than to a queen's mild cries that could not go far.
Yet this forest was so known to her, indeed familiar;
Many mornings spent to walk with her first beau -
And then she remembered, shameful as the memory were:
Her king's cousin had been her first dream.
"I cannot think of that, for I am not entitled,
Yet I sense they're near, so I must proceed and never stop,
I shall find thee, cousin, and be it in mine powers,
I shall leave thee with a no more beating heart!"
Yet for hours and hours, till evening she wandered
And the forest's trees barely knew an end;
Still she would not change the aim of all her thoughts.
While walking and turning her head with both fear and hope,
She discovered among a pile of lonesome leaves a sword:
Silvery, with a lion's figure on the hilt, she recognised it;
And then the question haunted, "what should I believe?"
Still she rested not, and midnight's care surrounded,
She escaped the angst of everything about.
The woods left behind her, and she entered a village,
Where poorest men looked up to her and bowed.
Though not her kingdom, she proffessed a smile,
Believing it were known where her king was lying,
And entered the tavern, or perhaps that it was;
But only drunkards were to find, and so she went ahead;
A singing bard then caught her eye, and waiting among the dancing folk,
She asked of a stranger in armour, brought that morning,
Perhaps ashamed, or perhaps proud and merry?
And the minstrel replied, "no, ma'am, there is but one new peasant,
Stripped perhaps from the greatest of glories,
For his features are fine, and his face is mild,
Yet his garments makes one cringe with pity."
"Hast thou seen his eyes, I ask, perhaps thou know'st?"
"Yes, ma'am, blue as the pond's clear mirror,
And even milder than a starry sky!"
"I must be mistaken, for mine king's not so;"
And in disappointment, she went ahead in tears.
"This place shan't do, for he's not here;
Yet I might as well see to this poor blue-eyed man,
For he might be one of his squires."
Yet the man was guarded by such fierce people,
And she dared not speak, then how to get to him?
Avoiding the watchmen, she found a small window,
Through which lighted candles threw their beam.
"Good man, what hast thou done for such watch?"
Only the face of the prisoner she saw, and nothing else:
"I have fought for mine king and well punished I am."
The queen's voice soothed, and her heart much lighter,
"What king speak'st thou of, a noble and so kind?"
The prisoner's answer was indeed surprising:
"Art thou, mine queen, that I hear at this hour?"
And she delighted in this low and humble answer,
"If thine queen is searching, then yes, 'tis who I am."
"Thou greatest, his Majesty's been taken, yet know not where;
I am but his mere squire, much information I happen to spare.
Yet our captain must know more, and perhaps he knows best."
"And where is this captain, this man that thou still talk'st of?",
"I know not where, and even in which world,
For last night's battle was indeed beyond equality,
And fighting one could not tell where the others,
Therefore I must confess I know only of mine place,
And this I regard as most hurting and hopeless.
"Then remain well, good man, and fear not,
By tomorrow's light a life be saved or taken;
And this life, I fear, must be one only;
For if I find mine king his cousin shall soon perish,
Indeed if not, mine own breath be stolen."
And so she fled, indeed the night was black;
And her mind full with restless, frailest hope,
And another village she stumbled across that night,
Yet nothing alive was to be seen or heard.
"Should I give in? Stays it in mine powers?"
A new suspicion grew and turned her thoughts.
"Perhaps he wishes me not to find him,
Yet that is not the case, I trust him so!"
Upon exiting the village, the last houses around,
She heard whispers from some bushes, and she froze:
"Nor fiend, nor friend can bring me rest now,
Then I should not be scared of what's to come,"
She barely had the chance to think, and from their shelter
Two men appeared, weary and slow in their pace:
"Ma'am, thou hast little to find here, for we know
Of thine endeavour to find the lost soul of our king:
He is but taken away by his cousin the vile,
And nobody knoweth of his whereabouts!"
"How doth ye know, poor men, of mine intent?"
"Thine demeanor says it all, thine Majesty,
Thou art our queen, and he is still our king;
For this reason we hide till dawn to find him."
"Then joineth me, squires, for dusk is far,
And in darkness he shan't be helped."
Thus they went farther, and at first ray's cry
Entered the last of forests, the journey's end.
Yet this forest alike with none before their eyes,
And creatures were heard bellow, yet the three
Stood in bravery, yet silent, and as they paced
Upon paths unknown to mind, neither to maps
Yet known to heart and an aching sight of hope:
A helmet shining in rising beams of sun,
And herald's sign appeared thus clear to them:
"Our king is close, reigneth our king!",
Queen's guards then rejoiced, yet it would not last:
Horrid sounds surrounded every leaf on earth,
And their scared eyes skyward then moved.
Majestic creatures such as these they'd not seen,
Still golden birds they reckoned, and so they said,
"No sign of fear, for these shall do much good,
And for their wisdom we our king shall find."
Our queen's heart began to stride apace, and then she sighed,
"What bringeth ye, mine faith or mine defeat?"
And a quickened thought remained forth in her mind,
"Fear not, for joy they carry under their wings."
And the first bird touched earth, and so the second,
And many more were to land before her;
Upon approaching, their mild light eyes spoke their hearts,
"Your king is close, yet fight for him ye must -
For as he fought another night for ye, dear souls,
And so are ye to prove thine swords are gold."
Then earth shook and trolls came out of slumber,
Letting out roars of maddening fright in them,
And the birds flew off, leaving only traces
Of golden blossoms of flowers' haze.
Bold were they, yet our queen was bolder,
As to the men, at once they fled with fear,
Never intent to brave their foes, yet ever coward.
"Now halt, ye creatures, for mine sword's your perish,"
And the first bear was slain to ground.
Our queen's own heart was not to rest,
Therefore her hands would not retain astray.
"Mine hope, your end," when second beast was down.
And upon third move, her sword drowned sound,
"Mine love, the shattered thing ye aimeth for."
And so she was only, surrounded by dark leaves
And silence was at rest, restored for better purpose;
And so the queen proceeded, yet not before
Watching the horror's corpses vanish to night's black.
Bantering, her thoughts were as storm's cruel thunders,
"Mine task I've done, what quest shall it be now?
For I am not yet broken, mine might still dwells inside."
A sirenic voice broke through those woven words:
"Thine achievement we shall recall,
Yet for now, though must face thine last of trials,
Thine third one, as you ought to be aware:
For thine struggles for thine king we've noticed,
And unrewarded thou proceedest to finality."
"Blessed I can't be called for now, yet who shall knoweth,
Perhaps I shall regret mine words ere present."
"Thou hast a wondrous goal to bring achievement,
Wait but, then stare in disbelief!
Thine king is not afar herefrom, so we shall lead you
Then find him and rejoice in thine rightful aim!"
"So I am to find at last mine king? Then why the terror,
Why should I curse this third of trials,
Perhaps I should know better? Yet that cannot be!"
And so she was to a cave nearby led in,
And voices of angry men she heard and stopped her pace:
"What may that be, I ask, ye wise birds?"
"Those are thine cousin's men, torturing thine sought."
The lady's ears then shut with angst,
And runs, and hides, and then steps forth!
And in torches' light she sees her king beloved,
In peasant's wear and face disgraced, and then she cries:
"Mine king!"
The advisor stood silent, and on their chairs,
The smith's and merchant's and physician's eyes were wild:
"Why are we to remain now without king, nor queen?",
The physician's mind proffessed a need for answers.
"And to think our foe was stronger, that shan't do!",
The merchant would make his puzzle known.
"Indeed, the terror struck upon us, that night we all recall!",
The blacksmith urged his eyes, so as not to cast their tears.
The advisor stood silent, for he knew so plenty,
Yet he would not mirror such monsters into words.
 Three nights' time had passed since the queen's departure,
And not a word had been given as proof of her welfare.
No lords, no ladies, no beggars and no bards
Knew of her whereabouts at the time there was.
Yet the three questioned, and would not rest, nor sleep,
For truth is ever present, though not near, so one must seek;
Yet too much trouble they could not spare for such,
For folk required their skillful services be present.
Yet a messenger stormed in, with yellow note in hand,
"Ye got news, yet I cannot tell what sort!
Here, a carrier bird landed on mine shoulder ere now,
And this paper to me brought has."
The three rised at once from their stools,
The merchant grasping the note, and then read loud:
"Want ye your king, fight then for him must!"
Title foreign, yet the advisor knew so well.
Yet the advisor still quiet sat and watched,
Then the smith turned and asked with doubting heart:
"Know'st thou of anything that we yet do not?
For whilst we, curious, awaited this strange note,
Thine face looked plain, thine smile but I saw:
Thou know'st everything, so speak out at once."
The advisor became sober, yet his eyes alive:
"What I know is, sir, whom the note belongs.
Further I should not guess, for it's not mine place;
Yet one must always suspect, for it's all that one hath."
"Then speak, why this vile look? Don't thou hear me, speak!"
The advisor replied with sighs, "mine fellows, I fear
That what stays therein has been said already.
And with humble sorrow for what I am to say,
I should begin a tale of now-lost silence."
The merchant and the smith would wait no more,
Yet the surgeon, hopeful till the end, remained calm:
"Hurry not, mine fellows, hear him tell his tale,
For one should not guess, for it's not one's place.
Suspect you may as well, yet be still now, hear him."
The surgeon's patience was rather odd than right
Still the two were seated, and the tale saw light:
"Upon a time with dragons scattered across the sky,
Man saw his powers, in everything about.
Man thought himself too good, and perhaps so he was,
And so he turned into a self-destroying peril.
And Man turned wealth into a burden to be slain -
Man turned brotherhood into treacherous pain.
So hatred cursed Man, and everything beneath him,
And whatever good, or better, even best, there be!
With each passing day another soul betrothed
To the circus of madness woven with greed.
Yet a hero in armor was seen ashore, and so Man went,
Demanding his surname, and wealth and kind,
Yet the hero stood silent, and on his horse,
Man wondered of what sort this stranger be.
Yet no second was wasted, and alas they went:
Man and Hero became a bond's slave,
Not the brotherhood every other knoweth,
For it lay not in truth, but alas in greed.
And so years passed, and both took other paths:
Hero 'came beloved, one would kneel at once before him;
Still Man stood hidden, drawn to his vile plans,
And when the day came, Hero became king.
Finding his wicked project, Hero expelled Man,
And Man was crowned to reign upon a far away land.
Hero watched his kingdom mature and prosper,
And light at heart his reign was best of all,
Yet never forgetful was his head when watching
Fire's tongues rising from afar, Man's ground.
Yet his days were pleasure's own descendence,
Yet it was not to last. For Man's return was seen,
And fight upon skylines one could but well see."
"I seem to place thine tale upon reality's hour ere!",
Spoke our merchant, and frowned then he proceeded,
"Know'st thou only this? Or perhaps there is more?"
What brimstone in his voice, how loud his claim!
"Indeed I know, yet I should not tell," the reply then came.
The merchant quit the room, determined to go home;
And fetch provisions for the journey, for he knew now this:
Seek his king and queen he ought to, alone even if be!
Before he strove for answers, company was seen:
The smith and the phyisician, bearing frowns with them.
"Leave not yet, thou noble kind of man,
For we are imprisoned in conviction's surest plan!"
And they all went, holding the advisor for a liar,
Searching and waiting, then pacing till night's fall.
Upon their arrival to the last of villages,
The din across the people surpassed their joy and luck:
"What is this great occurrence?," the smith asked a peasant.
"Kind sir, we all but one thing know:
The beast has been slain, let all rejoice in feast!"
The three glanced one at the other, and the physician dared say:
"Now sees one a mere bear, in forest's deepest place,
What beast did that man talk of, and perhaps is he sane?"
And further they all went, wishing ending to their chase.
A tavern they discovered, where folk were awake
With songs and dance, ale and wine enchanted.
"Good folks, I reckon ye art fine and well -
Pray tell us, what found ye so bewitching to rejoice?"
"Our king is dead, long live our king!",
The merry crowd then sang.
"And who reigneth for now upon ye?",
Asked the merchant, quick to sigh relieved.
"A lord came from afar, and bringing with his queen,
Ye hat not seen so fair a creature!"
Yet the three were past doubt now, for they knew well
Who this fairest creature was to be.
"And hath your king night's darkest eyes?",
Inquired; "indeed he hath, and mildly cast they looks,"
"Where is thine king, perhaps he is near?"
"Indeed he is, yet sure we are not so;
He was seen at the pond, speaking to his queen -
Go and find him, if ye really must!"
But the merchant wished to rest;
He laid his head down, at last to sleep.
The surgeon's vice looked only at ale casks -
And so the blacksmith went to find his lord.
Indeed one had not much to search, for there it was,
An eerie pond delighting in moon's eyes.
And by the pond, Hero and his wife share words,
And spoken love may not be now rephrased.
Yet the sight of him brings warm inside smith's heart,
And then he sighs with oceans of gained hope:
"Mine king!"
The advisor stood silent, and on his throne
The king perused his bearing, for words he would not hear:
"And to think I trusted thee, in mine worst of hours,
And every blink thou would conspire in thine mind,
How to serve thine master best, this I saw thou knew -
It  was not I thou slept less than lions for,
Indeed, my cousin was thine lord, and that I reckon now."
The king was quiet for a time, but then he said,
"Thou shalst be expelled, away with thee, thou pest!"
And the advisor was taken away where one would never know.
Then the king turned to his squires:
"Brave men, I shall reward your boldness and your might!
Knighted all of you shall be, and may never be such need for you,
For harmony's restored, and peace's blade intact!"
The squires left the throne room, hailing at their king.
"Thou, the handiest of surgeons, weep no more,
For thou art a drunkard, yet a loyal one!
Thou shalst aid receive, and mourn no more,
Indeed, thou art worthy of everything thou hast."
The surgeon left; the merchant was at turn:
"Thou, wittiest of tradesmen, I am much inclined
To see in thee the most powerful of minds -
Receive my reward, thine priceless gold and silver,
Go now, and meet thine day's upheaval."
Alas, the smith had now to stand.
The king smiled, and then commenced to tell:
"Thou, forgemaster, hast been noble;
I fancied thou should never leave thine anvil,
And for this, I am required to deny
Any refusal from thine part in this:
Thou shall be recalled in ages to come,
Not only for thine bravery in thine seek,
Yet also for thine demeanor ere now."
And the smith went home, pleased in his heart,
Yet the wildest thought stoned him into place:
One must recall a king, and not a smith,
So then he gathered all men and women found.
Another night was at a close, when all,
With their finest wear and brightest smiles on face,
They startled the court with their brisk pace,
And their king took his rightful place upon the throne.
What he would say, we shan't ever know,
For before his chance, the people, rich and poor, then knelt.
And with glorious blessedness, one piercing voice shook walls:
"Hail, our king!"

Twice

Heart without Mind can do much well,
Though Mind without Heart one cannot so tell.
Every physician should state the patient's health
Without understanding, buried be in wealth.

Morning

We're raining and things will get worse;
If we turn our minds from puddles
We'll regain our best advisor.
We've been challenged before,
Why do you fear the battle?
We're raining and the sun's return is close.
You cannot see beyond your cradle,
You wish to let it sink, mended by the stars
But healing you won't get from a poet.
I have my hope, but you're not worthwhile.

Dry

I've been trapped before, I've placed my fingers elegantly against the glass.
I've swum already in ink, and I still have stains around my eyes.
My ears have yet to find silence that parallels this amorphous circle of doubt.
My mouth has yet too feel again every word afloat, returning to its origin.
I've been enfreed before and kept my head imposing, demanding recognition for my accomplishment.
I have been let go, sent away to find a better shore to conquer.
I have been buried beneath charmless crowns of air.
My ears have not heard the same melody in full sail.
My eyes have not seen perfection in utmost degradation yet.
My words have yet to tear a quiet wind down.
I've been sent away to find a better cloud to step upon.
I've been offered silvery wings, reflecting nothing inside me.
I've been acclaimed by lonesome shells beneath the watery skin.
I tried to fly, and have been flying ever since.
But the wings nail me to gravity's heart. I drop.

I've been trapped before, but I keep my fingers away.
I've swum already in ink, but I cover my eyes with fear.
My ears have yet to find noise as this circular amorphia of knowledge.
My mouth has yet to lose so rapidly every single word.
I am enfreed but shall keep my head earthward, demanding permission to go back.
I am let go, sent away to find a worse home to shatter.
I am buried beneath charming masses of water.
My ears are tired of the same maddening rant.
My eyes are filled with pointless shallow quality.
My words have yet to lose another war.
I am sent away to find a better star to reign over.
I am offered golden wings, worthy of every inch of me.
I am still wailed at by crowdy pearls upon the sand.
I'll try to swim, and will be swimming forever.
But the wings will nail me to the ocean's core. I'll drown.

Bedside

"Thee I have given all my senses' wrath;
Forgive my ranting wisdom, my pitiful mistrust;
Thou art that for which I buried mankind's lonesome past;
In thee discovered a fountain's spring one hath."
Thine voice sootheth thine betrayal, be but true
Once however told I thee in mighty bearance:
A lover's hatred is not much inclined to do
Marbled faces as mine or thine cause penance.
"I have wronged thine every utterance, in every way!"
One indeed is my request, mistake me further, I ask!
Thou know'st not how, before thine love was ere conveyed
How dull still life appeared, ever like a task!
"Then why at this moment, in thine worst of hours,
Dost thou turn me in a man so weak in powers?"
Could I, wouldeth thou still be hereby bedside?
Every hold of thine hand maketh my illness dry.
"I've wronged thee ever since I spoke thee then:
Have I reason to believe thee cured, at last?
For my words would haunt the mightiest of men -
Yet thou say'st it doth thee well, trust then I must."
I never was a heart only in a spirit's well,
My mind would search and burn even in water,
Over an ocean can but a stormy snow dispel;
Thine face hath hints of frozen reigning laughter
And I see thou dost thine best for my welfare.
"Then why art thou distant in thine ways before me?
Might I know an answer, perhaps I can bear?"
Do leave me, I entreat thine kind, speak not;
Help me see thine light, for darkness I have sought
In thee I found our truth, and I might as well abstain;
Perhaps thou and I are anything but sane.

Ein Versuch

Ein tausend Tränen im Himmel grau
und wenn ich atme, nur kalte Luft kommt herein.
Wenn wir nur mehr als wenig wären,
Würde dann der Himmel blau.

Turn

I breathe my soul out only to find
That better still stays in expectance.
Yet it's warm here, peace and grace
In this elegant sleeping draught.

Drowning

Hundredth hour, four days in a row;
You speak as if you knew the words
And their colours,
But you'll never be the first:
Present is before past;
You think as if you knew me,
You shout at the hole in the wall,
You look me in the eye with trust
You measure my best in your dirty schemes
You try and try, but never get the chance
Your efforts are on ground zero,
Sinking in eating sirens...
Never ever mind.

Charcoal

I found the laces on the ground -
Dust-proof inside leafless trees -
His manner dry as skin's ice -
His brow matching the rain -
His sound bitter and sunburnt -
His hand grasping my letters -
His thoughts flowing aside -
Never understood.

BWV 115

I had better be now silent.
For there is such noble kind inside!
A work and inner privilege,
A metaphore so fine,
Of so gleaming a mind!
And even when the world's rules
No longer apply,
I know something is left of us;
We'd had a reason for all,
And heart for nothing.
They found the key of space,
Unlocked time and awaited long.
But what was it they saw then?
It was but art, fastened skyward.
I was asked then, what we should do;
But little did I care for them;
Insensitive beings, united in transparent bliss.

Before me stood
A creation so flawless -
Can't they imagine?
How will they end?

Time was merely what it's now;
However great our efforts might be
Another will not ever be born!
No dusk in perfect sound;
Keeping the secrets white as fog.

Yielding before such bravery,
Opposing their actions, deaf and blind
Until they heard the music in his mind.

Review

White.
Forged melodramas into water,
I had my help from it, the snow.
I broke my tears for fear I'd stutter
With him behind me, I failed to glow.

A game of peace, a game of war;
Stonepaved face, reflection gains reign.
Further, closer, I pushed the door:
Nothing I'd say, he would retain.

He had his keys, I'd let him have them.
They got old, lacking in usage.
Dripping water knew they'd happen
To change colour, none was salvaged.


Green.
What immense space he had left hollow!
But what can't blossoms still undo?
His shadow still I feigned to follow
Beyond my very efforts not to.

Then what ideal I made of him!
Fancying sublime traits and ways:
My self-possession seemed so dim;
My eyes still kept an even pace.

He had his keys, I'd changed the lock.
Try though he might, I would not yield.
Still I knew he was not to knock;
In vain my might, in vain the shield.


Golden.
How I crawl in non-existence,
How I fail to utter 'yes, it's true!'
And I whisper, 'why the distance?'
And answer yet, 'because of you!'

Forever a time for questioning;
A last try before the clock strikes five;
His absence, an ideal so threatening
Leaves me hopeless, hardly alive.

Yet enough with this self-pity.
I have risen for one thing I know!
It is not him whom I find so witty -
But wherein he would lastly grow!


Auburn.
Have you missed me long, dear relief?
How long has it been, a year or so?
How do I meet with my mischief
Before September? I'm filled with awe.

Whatever reply you have, mine's one:
It is but life running down my spine!
And life's a circle which has spun
Long before I could come back in line.

So blame me not, dear friend, you see,
I know my philosophies endear -
Not you, not me, but then it would appear
You've wasted your nights talking to me.

For an absent-minded musician.

III

Black starlight, you could be so much more;
Not restrained to skies and eyes that sleep!
To poisoned waves that fail to find a shore.

A melody that laughs when it should weep -
A flowing concert you cherish and adore.
You're haunting us and then away you creep.

What life you lead and how it was before!
Too heavy a treasure, sunk in water deep.

8

On my way back, I encountered
A slightly different path.
It was not less travelled,
Nor underestimated,
And I knew not whereto it led.

Still I did not daunter;
I closed my eyes and laughed.
Instead of stone, I stepped on gravel,
Fear with joy now alternated
Of the path I would now tread.

So then I began to saunter
The very day my mind would fath.
The secrets I unravelled,
My thoughts at once levitated
Out of minutes time had shed.

Conversing Has Its Flaws...

I held on to a trap, interlaced my spirit with a nothingness. Possession never had been worse to taste, though my eyes returned now and then to that rough limit of our minds, logic... And though I've made my everything out of a small piece of cardboard, I held on tight to a trap, wishing it would be an exit. But no gap leads to light, for it goes down, down, until the down turns into up. Earth stands against my efforts too.

And though I'd like to pour you another cup of tea, I'm afraid we're out of sugar. Will you mind as much as I would?

I guess, or better yet, I know, that we are souls with a clear destination. But a road is a road, there are patches one needs to level before stepping onto them. Insane, yes, to think that one can tighten the strings of the instrument without ripping another's soul in three. But what are we without hope?
And what does hope do, after we're gone?

Forgive me, pray, if I seem to cry. Should I fetch the mint?

And if we gather what we see, then why should we stop halfway through? Can we reckon what we may not see, yet exists? For miracles take place with or without notice. Take it as a truth and you'll understand.
Sometimes the point one makes takes hold of everybody, yet apart from being so serious, blinding or ignorant, it has nothing to support the rules it induces. So instead of making, doing, participating, competing, winning our place among our lies, had we not better forget about ourselves?

Yes, it appears that the weather has changed. So quick, I dare say! Have you come here by coach? Then I shall have my own got ready for your leave. Only let me know when I've tired you enough.

And each of us has their place bedside, and the right to hope the challenges cure themselves... Why then do we sigh relieved when they fade? Is there no remorse whatsoever? That a greater height could have been touched with the tip of our fingers, has it no meaning alongside our cares? Think of the strength resulted from such efforts...

Yet I'm afraid I've been a terrible bore; should you want to go, I cannot keep you from doing so.

Then I bid you goodbye. You have been a lousy companion, but you shall never know that. After all, you are just a cat.

7

Five-faced story in square paperback
The history of masqueraded heritage
A symbolic fight between grey and white
Reddened smile, mighty promises
Nothing written, nothing read
Maybe there's time to listen
Even in laughter's charm
There's space for one
But may it be?

6

Your letters denatured into sounds,
I am sorry that I read them;
And while your hand sought refuge
Underneath the pen's brimstone,
I held on tight to what I saw
And hoped it was for me.

Now and then my heart still pounds
That you should seem a madman;
My rain was but your deluge,
My effort but your tiring loan -
I held on tight to what you saw
And hoped you'd still see me.

5

Reliable like a bench between oaks
Valiant as lips cast into the river
Losing their sound, lending it away
Torn by water, taking the present
With a cry, away, away, away;
Making room for translucid words
That will join other unhappy stones
Until the din has dried up,
Securing a long-lasting silence
Before a cry breaks it, sensitive
Like a earless shell.

4

Such delight, to bring them in.
I wonder yet what you've become;
You never liked gifts,
So why would you bother?
I should not let this second pass
Without your knowing that
I left the candles outside,
Last night's snowfall was unkind,
You know, to the flames;
But don't despair, I'll buy new ones.
Still I wonder, when will you learn
That 'you' is 'we' spelled backwards?
You only care about your sleep.
Don't bother, I slept well myself last night.
Hold your thoughts, I'll read your lips:
You want me to yield before you.
Very well.

3

I flowered his existence,
As he put it into words,
But why do people always love
to crush and destroy the mild?
His hand was bleeding green,
A gardener's legacy.
But I assured him,
I promised him so,
That I'd find him soon,
Should he leave.
For that hand would bring back the day
I had to trace down -
Today, when I ripped off his roots,
cut his wisdom from the stem
So we would start over,
Regain scents we'd let go of -
Change our colors,
Drink the petals out of love.

2

They were frightened;
Their book had a lousy page,
One they'd ruffle in their fists
draw white lines and
cast cold breaths upon and
then throw away and
hope that it would land...
safely
But then what book would that be
if it had no pages, but two covers?
Pageless books are frowned upon;
and drawn circles instead of spirals,
and cast fret upon, once it's worthwhile.
They asked, 'is that all? A page?'
'Our only page,' and they'd plead
But soon would find
That no life can dwell
upon such grounds, no plastic toy
can be so small.
So who would they be?

Many find pleasure in comforting others. I, as well, find it miraculous.
If your sky is "bleeding grey", just think that somewhere in this big world the sun is shining, and since the clouds never stand still, the rays will enlighten your face one day. But until then, think of those who are happy and rejoice in their well-being.

1

He made his move.
Sliding the glass onto the table,
Leaving traces in circles to be.
Irregular, matching black rules;
Each second, one inch farther from me.
I crumbled away, became a line
Before he had words in mind, I grew
And left my nest, breathing soft waters
Imagining my world anew.
Before I left him notes, I said
I would be nothing but for my head.
My fame arised in shouty gems
That had no name, no wise defence.
His joy was short; it seemed so well,
More like ice-cream, to the sun's own will.
His bending scars left the world in liquids
On their own two feet, or maybe there were more.

"Why must everybody die to exist?"
A bubble sets forth and meets the steel bars.
If the conscience is great, the end is near.
If its concern is of none, it passes.
But it won't know that there's an atmosphere
That crushes everything,
That fights against it.
The weight surpasses the duty
The message is lost in the wind.
The damage is weak,
Still strong enough to kill.

His was the direction
Towards which I polarized;
And with every morning
That I saw the flowers at the door
Hope again flashed before me,
Ready to be revised.
But he did not know
Of whose attention my thoughts were;
He did not care, I fear,
That I let the flowers wither.
For if he had, he would have stopped
And prepared for the worst, yet I knew
That his gestures were of kind regard
That only his sense brought me his gift;
For, if he had been his heart's slave,
I know, he would have called more often.
And, among the wildflowers he'd leave,
There would have been a more gentle sprout,
But was there? No, I saw each kind of petal
Apart from one, that of a rose.

Before She Speaks

Before she speaks
They see a sign;
She is loving,
But somehow,
Everybody attacks;
As if her heart were ironed
With a simple mark:
'This end up.'

Poem to the Heart

My heart was not supposed to be thus. It had had no intention of developing fear of those eyes. No, it had needed face no perils, it had had none before it. Therefore, immediately after the cloth had been removed, gravity began to sink its unclawed hands; its beauty - gone.

It was once as healthy as a young heart can be. Fresh, wild, charmed by every snowdrop it would see. Yet it was not its season. The petals had been revealed to the world too soon, the blossoms should not have dared come forward. The strength of the flower,namely its perfume and delightful decorative potential, was taken away by insensibility.

My heart, though incomplete from that point on, was still a blossoming beast; in beauty, never to be equalled; in artlessness, never to be beaten. But what the world did to it was as unexpected as it was irrecoverable.

They cut its claws off. The single manner of defence left, once the petals had been ripped off, was gone; my heart was accordingly too tender to fight the battle. Yes, the warrior that had had no reason to panic became its own foe, since it was unable to battle others. For every smile would turn out to be foreign. Every tear fell too late to mean anything. But I did not despair.

So, wearing my deserted heart, I set forth and witnessed my life.

What bore forbidden marks were these: fury, rage, envy, despise, jealousy, hatred, all sorts of putrid maladies that would poison my core. My heart would not handle these well, hence the constant constraint to never step too fearlessly onto the stone.

But once, twice even, my heart's battle cry awakened. The play had one sole act, one truthful, yet somehow disturbing act. Yet the scenery was too mild for its subject. What could a midsummer pond, enlightened by crystal skies, with lovely birdsongs carried by the crisp wind do with the sense of revenge my heart felt, as it was crumbling with every moment?

So I oppressed my ambition; I fought it, despite the faint intelligence that it had nowhere to belong but there, glued to my heart.

Consequently, my quest was then to determine its disappearance. I scratched the outsides of my heart, aware that I would succeed if I wounded it; they grew thin, in the end. But the ambition left us.

Yet do not think that a heart with thin walls is the heart of the pitied!

A heart with thin walls is a miracle, for every good is free to enter, enriching every limb. However, my belief is strong towards one direction: evil can enter too, but it is done damage, so easily even, therefore it stays not long thither.

Ein Versuch

Könntest du meine Zuflucht sein,
wenn ich rastlos durch die Zeit laufe?
Denn ich habe seit langem davon geträumt,
Dass ich zu Hause irgendwo mich fühle,
Und selbst wenn deine Ohren weit, weit sind,
Als ob du freiwillig meine Worte nicht hörst,
Vergiss nicht, Schatz, dass ich hier bleibe,
Mit aller Kraft versuche ich darauf warten,
Dass du irgendwann, irgendwen findest,
Die dich froh macht, und dann werde ich froh auch,
Denn es ist richtig, du hast Liebe in deinem Sinn...
Obwohl ich nicht das Bild deiner Liebe bin.

Pastime

I'll wear my pride until it's tattered;
Until time ties me to a reply:
Forgiven marble with pointy skies.
And thine, the game I never dared win;
The shoulder I never had the chance to cry on.
But had I reason to shed tears, thou ask?
I'd known myself till thou unveiled the mask.
Thou ne'er saw my place before thee:
Serene marble with open skies.
And thine, the chess-table with one chair aside.
Was this thine ambition?
To rob me of my knights and squires,
Shatter my throne, tear my crown?
What argument hast thou now,
Wouldeth thou've sent me then,
While mourning my realm,
Another pawn to serve the purpose?
What replacement wouldeth've that made?
Thou say'st I know too well:
Encrypted marble, restored skies.
A queen is free when hope is not -
Grasped by the horrid hands of fate;
I raise my head, thou sayest it suits me,
Better than any gown I'd ever wear;
Thou send'st thine lords to reach my castle,
I send thee word that they had better leave -
They know the path to walk, thou walked it first
When thou'd return from my revelries ere now.
Rememberst thou how we danced till dawn?
Thou'd sayeth I was the most gracious of all -
Doubt never touched my heart, thou see'st;
Yet thine promise, to be thine queen, did ever.
Then what receiv'st thou, upon conquering?
Hail from every soul thou reignst upon?
"No, ma'am, thine beautious hand to hold I wish",
Art thou sane enough to breathe?, I ask.
"No, ma'am, for before my conquest,
I never was intent to hurt thine heart.
Thine conscience has taught me well, indeed,
To search first above my head for beauty."
Thine voice cannot turn my head with joy,
For I cannot cheer the ashes, if there is no fire.
What was I to thee? A pastime dull?
The challenge of thine existence?
Should the latter be thine thought, as it is,
Pray be quiet, speak no further.
I have endured few worse sounds.
"I cannot sit still, ma'am, do forgive;
I intrude to make it known, I'm chained!
Thine soft marble face, the skies I love,
Chain me further, silence cannot do!
Thou art the first, I fear the last;
I have my reason, do hear my word:
The pride of a king hath a short life,
Whereas a queen's survives a falling sky,
A gentle brow is deep enough to carve
A failing castle, back upon its grounds;
I could have not been me, thine grateful slave -
The palace nearby wouldeth have sufficed to me;
Yet the grief unbearable for a king, I know,
Wouldeth have turned my smile in a voiced terror.
I cannot injure my people to the extent there is;
But thou, ma'am, can'st see the shadow of my heart -
The remainder of a joyous ocean
Has turned apace into the mellow pound thou see'st.
Then I thought, perhaps too wrong I did,
That thou wouldeth help my shards of glory.
I never was intent to hurt thee, ma'am,
But rather help thee build thine story."
Thou'st learnt thine speech well, I gather;
Thine face shows little of what you tell though;
Sought thou my guidance, my compassion were thine;
Yet thou pretended to help me, my trust for thee fell.
I know not now what my response shouldeth be;
Thou seem'st to strengthen thine words,
Thine eyes no longer wander hereabout;
Thou fancy'st that I needeth thine aid,
A good remark that, I fear, cannot be paid
But with a most visible laugh, I bid thee adieu -
"Ma'am, leave not, I have ere exposed my armor
To the powerful sunlight, thou can'st not leave;
My pride may not live long, I doubt it not;
Thou can'st neither, for thou see'st my eyes,
Thou hear'st my voice now, pray remain;
My pride may not live long, yet it is alive;
Now still, I feign to understand thine pain.
I can't however, have forgiveness,
For no other king has proven strong enough
To urge me - be thine fellow in distress!-
Yet ma'am,--"
Say no word, or I shall take my all and leave!
Thou hast hurt me long enough,
No price that has been paid can be refilled!
You have left me empty, deserted -
Your army, indeed, better than mine;
I have endured everything, but thine bragging
I can bear not! How can'st thou say,
With so peaceful a grace, that I,
Without courage, without might at all,
Was unable to reject thine forfeit,
That I'd let myself fall, kneel even before thee,--
"Ma'am, hear my plea, I beg;
These words I have never said, upon my word!
But rather feigned to see myself
The best of warriors, yet I can see
These words do not embrace thine fear;"
Fear?! Sense'st thou fear among the storm?
Then the rain can't wash the dirt upon thine eyes!
"Then have I no hope at all? Art thou still that far?"
Thou givest me no choice, I cannot love a hollow star;
Thou art of remarkable marble,
Upon a distant sky.

A Princess in a Tower

Fright appeases,

Hollow heart.

Ink is dry

Eloquent desert.

Numb arms

Love defied.

Deigned expectance

Poisoned ears.

Induction

Where is tomorrow?
I only make it to another moment.
But were my story bright,
Attached to my own description,
Reaching the apex,
My path would be gone a million times.
My balance would be genuine,
My lies less visible;
Yet I know how to chase my fury -
Back into the fiery walls
Against the green-eyed terror,
A quick grasp of the pen,
A childish movement -
A poem.

I have my shreds of conscience,
I live to seek and then soothe hearts;
Yet my quest is not of underrated prey:
No, indeed, I challenge my ears to do all parts;
And so I'm quiet, yet I hear each word.

There is no mask which could wholly cover
The shreds of truth I keep inside so well;
No, indeed, I am but too defensive -
Yet one knows not of me,
So how could one tell?

I've met with fear of solitude, which I never understood;
I've met with people that had no rights at all;
Yet, if I am not mistaken, all were of one kind;
Fear is a state, not a right, and this they all knew.

Still, I have yet to find one distant;
and charming, peculiar, and when I have,
I'll pray that he comes to my aid at once.
And I'll try my best to have him assured
That he isn't quiet and hears no word.

A Tedious Affair

A tedious affair, his shadow to abide!
I should not trust his words or eyes;
Whoever was so drowned in pride
To extend our patience to a further size?
No, I should not agree at all.
My mistake may attain no remarkable price,
From this very angle, it is but too small;
I have his regrets written in an ink's disguise.
He thinks he can ascertain my strength;
Should I leave at once the sill?
Is he the one upon whom I depend?
Were he to come at last, this deal to seal!
Yet I see I have an ailment;
My head turns, my eyes confound
Everything I ardently call sentiment
Leaves me not in the least profound.
For I am not steady, nor constant,
Yet there's one thing I would much rather do:
Better to thrive in solitude, be distant,
Than to string my nerves on you.

Contemplation of a Silent Kind

Your foe's friend is your foe.

Your foe's foe is your friend.

Your friend's friend is your friend.

Your friend's foe is your foe.

I am not certain whether this I am entitled to write. It would be rather dull to insinuate that I am not disturbed by even the smallest gaze which may be directed from them, upon me. It is, indeed, delicate to exercise my rights, as a writer, and therefore to oblige each reading eye with the masked intentions I now am indulgent with and choose to express.
As a humble reader of others, I have been intrigued by certain creations and phrases of brilliant minds. Stubborn though they were on their literary path, success was on their side. The victory of a long gone hour appeases me, as I read and read, and wonder: why would a mind of such exquisite temper and capacity be, in turn, intrigued by monstruous conducts?
Yet today I was given the answer. As I strove to comprehend the limits of my liberty, a constantly fading thought surprised me with its bitterness and lack of objectivity. I shall not give away the answer, but rather attend to an example.

Upon the very pavement that you shall be walking, the aim in question being your obtaining an upcoming advantageous bargain, for this is what you are looking forward to, unconsciously you shall pass by everything that your ignorant pair of innocent eyes fail to notice. It is not the remarkable sky that escapes your sight, nor the open-hearted people you shall leave behind in your walk. No, it is the air that you will be breathing, upon your arrival, that will cost you more than you are able to pay.
The air, that is, for that air is a mass of brilliancy. You may never know whom you are sharing it with; whom you are avoiding each and every day, with perfect simplicity of arguments. No, for you shall only be in need of recreation and every so often, new garments.
That air belongs to the eminent composer. To the misunderstood empress. To the fallen kings. To the unparalleled philosophers.
And you? A toy in a spoiled child's hands.
You cannot reach your own reason, in spite of any effort you may be as kind as to make. For you are lost.
You, with your companion, as you both are not worthy of any of this (and perhaps your friend has come to this conclusion), you, spoiled minds, choose to spoil in turn the miraculousness of the fortress you feign to love. You are not entitled to.
Oh, I know very well, too well, even, that the world is home for everybody. Alas, I am but too selfish and spoiled myself, to take into account this truth!
Therefore, I state my opinion: you have no right to have what you have.
For an artifact is for a preserving environment. Entertainment one can find only between those limits that I was so eager to discover.
You are delighted upon seeing a fashionable dress; and after reconsidering, I find that your hopeless mind should indeed refrain from attempting any further. Do not tell me, pray, that yours are profound ideas! I know you too well to underestimate you. You are what you are.
But the society, with its wicked pace, has turned the fortress into a matter of choice.
You may live herein as you wish, you have everything at your disposal; do not walk on the grass is our only request.
Whoever counts the location among their wishes is most welcome; there are numerous ways of providing entertainment, as you were stating, time and again!, while the first drafts of the excursion were being drawn. Yes, a most endearing soul can find distraction among the kingdom. One matter that is prohibited is one's disrespect for the elders.
Elders? How come elders are to be respected?
Elders... yes, the ancient buildings and renowned squares; on your fancy device which you most oddly call 'phone' you can find them, and not only that it is most indicated that you visit them, but you also have to provide photographic evidence of the events. Oh, I am most greedy in my explanations, but is there a chance for me to breathe?
Home is where the heart is - my favorite six words. I am excessively fond of my heart, for it is torn in seven; my heart is to be found in several places, among which is the fortress I have previously mentioned.
Therefore, I cannot let you destruct my heart - it is not among your rights.
And most importantly, I would hate to see you content with your accomplishments, for, dear foe, you have none.

Forlorn Girl

"When will my head be at rest
Onto a silent, caring joy?
Have I had yet the very best?
Is there more then to deploy?"
And so she cried, for night and day;
Her masters would not let her be.
It seemed though too wrong to say
Since her eyes the mind deceived.
Alas, she wept in restless grief
A silvery tear earthward then fell;
And with response, she found relief.
The sole aim: her words to tell.

One

One's duty cannot be avoided; I have tried my best to whiten his face - to an extent that I find most precious. For now, though he seems distant, blank, foreign - unloveable! - I find beauty in every ray his eyes cast upon me. I find luminous perfection in everything now. Oh, were I the same!
One's loving cannot be torn apart; there is this sphere that lets nothing in - or out, for that matter. But what I know, or perhaps, what I feign to know, is that everything is of the highest value, once in. How come it manages to pierce with undoubted power and safety and inhabits the sphere? Eventually, the sphere grows and grows, making room for another set of compassionate eyes. And thus remains the love unshattered. Mine is of a more invisible sort.
One's forbearance reaches the skies. I know mine is able to; but I feel no longer attracted to the idea of it. I wish I were...

Payback

"Did you know that a person can be deciphered by their eyes?", I lazily whispered, leaning towards his cheek.
"Then I should close mine, lest I should be solved; would you mind?"
"I could not tell if there is truth in what you render, dear. You are too obvious - I fear I have been mistaken all along."
His eyes that from amber had turned black in a glimpse caught mine in their game. And as I retreated alertly and made an attempt to diminish the intimacy between us, I said, "God, I wish I lived two hundred years ago. I would be entitled to receive your charms - you grant me now an option."
He turned his head and raised his voice: "I have a newspaper in that drawer. I am afraid it is only five years old, but I guess it will have to do - it may not be from the 1800, but I am sure that your imperial judgement will be pleased with it. For a moment, at least."

Waters

I wish my heart thought on behalf of my mind
And that my head loved one gentle and kind;
But from a willow's grace to silently care and weep
I am as far as a restless ocean's deep.
My daring fight somehow cost me less than more
If only I had the right my heart in drops to pour!
Oh, hear me who might, a quiet call I make!
Throw your eyes at me, steal what there's to take!
Fancy a thrilling chase through the bending dark -
Imagine a shallow sea, gather the courage to embark.
For waves I give birth to, with my dangerous thinking...
Should you ask, I shall answer without blinking -
That you, a mystery forlorn, have said enough
To make me refuse ever again to laugh.

Dreaming

There is relief when dreams are past
And from their hold one's free at last.
There is healing in such decay
When one's mind has to obey.
But what cure is there when one
Is such nightmares bestowed upon?
What dulcet sound of absent gravity
Does one hear with no reality?

betrothed in lies, with frantical charms -
but the arrival of a mind too slow
between us, melting our insides
playing the life,
living the play.
the opposing thoughts
in betrayal united
in treason singular
in deceit one.
thin harms and glory
reset to pain everything.

Delayed Imagination

I am left segmented in almost true pieces
and feel as if my Heart can replace what it misses
with a word.
And the language of Silence is so twisted
that I really doubt it has ever existed
or been heard.
With impartial cries and impaling shouts
Nothing is ever sent out of the mouths -
this is absurd.
I gather my limbs from this memorial Gate
ethereal Voices scream that I am late.
I fall earthward.

Our Run

He called the bluff of stars once
He told me so, "be still
For thou ne'er get the chance";
I made rules of his will.

So he turned to me then
With fingers cold perused my brow
He spoke of cowardice of men
"None of them shall save us now.

I doubt thee not, for I can see
Thine eyes, the mirrors of water;
But thine are not the clearest of seas -
But rather a stormy ocean's laughter.

I shan't say thou art mine own -
I'd lie, for I know not thine ways,
Thine perfect voice, so sweet a tone
Changing with a monstruous grace."
"Monstruous, sayest thou?
Then thou knowest not of me!
Nor of words mine, nor of my vows,"
Told I him in anger's spree.

"Givest thou thine hand to me?
For my belief stays in it only.
And hope so blind thou might not see:
What's as wrong as being lonely?"

With gazes wide and voice unsure
I took his hands and laid a kiss;
"Thou might think we have no cure
But thou alone - a thought amiss!"

Mellow Fear

I found the wings to take me far -
Yet I have no arms to empower them -
But I have come to trust myself
For a dream within a dream I have.

And at night it is the dulcet sound of waves
I fear, but what is fear without hope?
For an angel's glimpse is blessed hope
And hope within the hope I have.

I will fight if I must, yet will still try
To cover the ocean of grief that I am left
But what is grey when shadow's cast?
And light within the dark I have.

I betray myself in my faint run
To enrich a soul before my own;
But beneath the depth I know there's height
And life within mad death there is.

For blind is he who cannot see -
I fear I have become a liar;
For sun has set yet no light burns my eye
But light within the dark I have.

And I shall raise myself when colourblind
For deaf is he who cannot hear.
However, I fear myself, for I don't hear the call
But hope within my hope I have.

The same I am and the journey's long gone
A voyage rather awaits me now.
Awaken I crawl towards my mind's limbs
For dreams within my dreams I have.

Part One

"Enhanced complications," I yelled, the cold walls reverbing ethereally my voice. For ever since I had been aware of the incomparable difficulties that his arrival would arouse, mine had not been the greatest of efforts. I had not prepared decent subjects for him to develop, nor had I known the direction of his hidden inclinations. My ground was falling while I was trying to catch my ever-ascending wings.

It was yet dishonorable of me not to welcome him within these walls, well acquainted with the effects upon his state.

"Alas, you're here," I whispered as he took his fashionable hat off, searching for my presence in the hallway. "You've changed," was my last thought before I sighed and began to descend the stairs.

***

Nothing, I believe, is more irrational than the war. With conflicts too shameful to take care of personally, our leaders pretend to know better and send our men away. The more people one deserts, the more respectable one becomes. How glad I am that my fate has not been designed so as to fulfill this mission! I am a woman, and it is rather silly of me (perhaps even unnecessary?) to pretend to understand their reasons - at least this is what my exceedingly eager brothers have made me believe. Oh, this pride that women simply cannot feel! The glory of serving the country and its purpose!

I am not that realistic, I fear, but must I? Has anyone encountered so far the written word that establishes the limits of a woman's thoughts? I do not believe in duty. If I were to enroll, I would be beheaded due to cowardice.

But alas, what do I know?

And what is there to know, apart from the gaiety that roams free in Moscow these days? At least the gatherings that I often attend never give me reason for distress. I am the jolliest of girls, for I have no predisposition towards caring about the affairs of the gentlemen. Let them deal with the Tsar's businesses! I am most thankful that there are separated rooms for separate subjects at each ball that I happen to go to.

Nevertheless, I know how important it is that each lady hosts an event every so often, whatever the circumstances be. With or without a war approaching, a true lady ought to obey the rules of propriety.

I could not but agree with my mother's revelation some time ago: we should throw a ball!, she said. I was focusing on a new sonata that my elder brother, Leonti, had given me as a gift the night before. My dear sister Olga, (Olya, as we all called her; personally, Olga sounded like the name of a glutton elderly lady, and my sister was anything but that), lacked in distraction and never failed to surprise us with new metaphores that stood clearly for proof of her literary talent:

"Mother, will I ever be spared of the constant neglect of society? ...Is there any place left after the oceans of unenduring boredom have erased my spirit?"

Veronika, the youngest of us, could not pull herself together; she found amusement in our sister's grief and responded to each of her exclamations:

"Oh, Olya, what interest do you think we find in your complaints?"

And I, from behind the pianoforte, giggled as I turned the pages, hoping that these times would never end. It was not every day that all three sisters had time to spare with our mother. Nina wandered all day long in the family's park, which I would never understand; Olya shut herself in one of the sitting-rooms and worked on her stories, which no one would see published, and I, with no sense of shame whatsoever, sat each waking moment in front of the instrument and carelessly hummed the songs in my head.

"Well, at least I make some efforts to bring good disposition into this house! I do not want to be the only one whose parents sit idle indoors and wait for other opportunities."

As if this suggestion would not be enough for our mother, she continued:
"Not to say that countess Gavrilova has thrown balls for each of her five daughters' birthdays for the past three months!"

"But our birthdays are all in March, dear Olya," said I; "what are we to do until then? What are you to do till March?", I added with a hint of a smile.

"Watch your tongue, will you, Katia?", my mother said with somewhat of an ill-disposition. "With the war coming, I believe there is neither time, nor nerves to spare on sisterly arguments."

I listened halfway through her speech, but upon hearing her bring the war up again I took my attention from her, back to my sheets.
"There she goes again," I mumbled. Then I rose my voice to add: "What if there is no war after all?"

Olya broke the silence with an ironic laugh:
"Indeed, Bonapart will wake up one day, soon, I suppose, and say: 'Oh, why must I invade the Russians? After all, I can rule the world without their consent... Perhaps I'll just ignore their enormous power and conquer the other, more insignificant peoples.' Surely you are the only one to find hope in this thought!"

My mother brightened as she heard this and replied, "she is not the only one, dear... I do hope the course of things changes, yet who knows? ...But in the meantime, why do not we give a reception? Thus all of you shall be pleased."

We all jumped out of our seats and approached mother hurriedly, embracing her in turns and exclaiming our heartfelt consents.

"Girls, it is to see what your father thinks of it."

But this was no obstacle in front of our serenity. Father always approved of our plans. What was there more to say? The Tvardovskys were hosting a ball!

As usual, Olya made sure that she would not miss any details; and so she preoccupied herself with the decorative affairs, while Veronika was very eager to make me busy with her own affairs. She was in constant doubt whether she should wear her latest gown; and what about the shoes? And her hair, "oh, Katia, the hair! What am I to do with it?" And I, with a gentle smile, would reply: "Ask mother."

For of course, our mother was the least interested in the preparations for the event, and thus she had lots of time to spend with her youngest daughter.

Do I seem a little strange? For I have stated before that my countenance is rather joyous and my happiness can hardly find an equal. Indeed, I am happy when I see my sisters caught in their little
nonsense, yet I do not rejoice in them. Indeed, I would much rather stay in the company of good society than alone, and only God knows how much I enjoy the admiration of others! I believe every young lady ought to do so, especially at my age, though I fear to exaggerate. My sisters often forget about others and speak of nothing else but the problems they ever face. I have never wished to be so, for I know how absurd it is to see nothing but one's own issues.
And so, for fear I would cross the borders of propriety and nerves, I sit quiet in my corner (a very pretty one, to be honest!) and enjoy the sight.
At least thus I had proceeded until father announced the guestlist a few days later.
"The Kuznetsovs?", cried the girls upon hearing the first family to come. Olya's green eyes shimmered with content, as if the party was already enough for her. One might think that is because of her best friend's belonging to that respective family, yet I, and only I, after countless nights spent in candlelight to hear how Olya's heart was entirely in the hands of the eldest prince Kuznetsov (and I kid you not, there was plenty of reasons!), alas, only I knew the cause of her joy. It did not pass unnoticed, therefore my father found it important to say:
"But, dear Olya, I fear Anya Kuznetsova shall not attend, since she is to leave for Petersburg."
No pained regrets sprang out of her mouth, and therefore I took the liberty of expressing remorse for her departure.
"She is going to relatives, is she not?", asked I with artless curiosity.
"Yes, but I cannot seem to understand why she is taking her brother with her."
"Oh," I gasped. "Indeed, why?", I quickly added as I looked at my sister.
She was desperately looking back, somehow waiting for further enquiries from my part. I shook my head and sank in my seat. Nina proved herself smart enough to continue:
"And do you happen to know which of her brothers are accompanying her, father?"
Our father thought for a bit before adding, "Why, yes, the youngest of the three! Aleksei, is it not?"
Olya, which was no longer in a tense state, breathed out with relief.
"Yes, quite so, Aleksei."
Her cheeks were unusually red, and mother asked if she was well. Of course there was no hope for remaining calm anymore, therefore she excused herself out of the sitting-room but just a moment after her closing the door Leonti and our other brother, Dima, came into the room laughing.
"What is it, boys?", said father.
They could not stop laughing, which made us very curious. Leonti was so close to falling on the floor that I almost thought he was sick. The whole family was staring at the two, except Olya evidently, who was probably sharpening her pencils and gathering her sheets of paper, hidden under the bed and behind the wardrobe.
At last, the boys calmed down and could tell us the reason for their behaving so. Leonti thought it best if he would reveal their recently found secret.
"Well, before I start," pausing once again to laugh a bit, "I must assure you, mother, that I have not forgotten your lesson... you know, as to its being forbidden to laugh at somebody else; yet...", pausing once again!, (I could not help thinking that they might have discovered Olya's stories; they were a secret to everyone in the family but myself, mainly because of the hints of her love for Sergei Kuznetsov... alas, a terrible thing would happen if Olya's aggressive temper were startled by this discovery!) "...yet, we called on the Gavrilovs today, as you have asked us," Leonti said, changing his tone as if to insinuate something - we all knew its meaning. The Gavrilovs were in fact countess Gavrilova, a widow, and the five pretty, young, unmarried daughters of hers; and, as Leonti was soon to be six-and-twenty and Dima twenty-four, it went without saying that our dear boys would be forced to make two of them their wives. "...And, upon being introduced into their living-room, we heard the little Karina declare as if tormented by the most unimaginable of distresses, 'but mother, I must go and fight with the others! Especially if Leonti goes too!' And I could not but stare at her, wondering if laughing would be the best option."
"And I assume you did not laugh, did you?", I replied, while the others began to laugh. I found it very embarrassing for the poor girl, yet I pretended to enjoy this little comedic story. Karina Gavrilova was only fifteen and did not have too much of an imagination. She most probably thought the war was just a silly game - much of what I did, really! Therefore, I was the only one to barely laugh at Leonti's words. Soon the preparations for dinner commenced, therefore our parents had to leave us in each other's company. As soon as they were gone Leonti started:
"What is wrong with you, Katia? I obviously said something hilarious, and all you do is smile?"
I thought a little - not too long, for I did not want to seem speechless - a defeat in my brother's eyes! - and responded with a neutral tone:
"Yes, dear Leonti, all I do is smile. While you and your friends imagine to know everything about the war and never fail to bring the subject up in every conversation, I cannot fancy myself acquainted with this topic. If I were Karina Gavrilova's age I would say the same thing." I paused to notice the others' reaction. Nina and Dima were somehow startled at my contradicting Leonti (the greatest authority among us, one would say). "...Alas, not really the same thing, for I would never, ever," adding a bright smile, "ever fall in love with you, however charming you might be."
A little puzzled, Leonti said:
"And why is that, pray? Do not you find me an outstanding companion? Are you that pretentious, dear Katia?"
"It is not my fault, I dare say. Well, it might be, a little, for I know you and the jokes you make about the Gavrilovs. Alas, alas, if I could shut my eyes and pretend our world was not to alter entirely, I would say the very same thing. I would fight beside each peasant Russia has to give, only if that would be a game I would be challenged to play. But I am a coward; and thank the Lord that I have no duty of the sort."
My speech waited for a reply. In vain. I had defeated Leonti's sharp mind and twisted replies. I felt like a true champion!
That evening I retreated at last in my chamber. Mine and Olya's, in fact; because even if our home had eight bedrooms, which would have been more than enough for our large family, Olya had insisted to still share her bedroom with me. I could not complain, because she was my dearest friend. I knew very well that I was not hers in return, for she had Anya Kuznetsova to write letters to, but my heart was sure that I would forever be her object of reliance. That evening (just three days before the before-mentioned ball), Olya seemed unusually open to myself. She kept me awake until midnight, chatting about every subject available.
"I know that you favoured Lucretia because of her sharpness of mind, yet... I felt she would not be suitable for the new character... You know, Lucretia is the one that I plan to marry to Frank, the English officer."
"But would it not be too strange if you just erased her? You would be left a great deal of gaps to fill, for instance when she saves that little girl from the burning house --"
"Nonsense, I have already taken care of it. I've replaced her with a different Lucretia."
"How did you manage? I thought, well... I thought her personality was the reason you started writing in the first place!"
She stared at me in awe, partly because my being so unaware was a surprise to her, partly because I had no right to interfere with her choices - which I had not, although Lucretia was my favourite, as Olya herself had declared.
"Well, Katia, I cannot imagine that you should know the doubts in a writer's mind, for you do not write yourself...", and as she began, I knew one of her self-defence speeches would follow.
"Forget it, will you? Now tell me, what is the new Lucretia like?", I stopped her, before she would say something regretable.
"Well, you see, I do not mean to insinuate anything by this, but you know how the old Lucretia mirrored your choices, your style, your talents; and now... alas, now she mirrors myself."
I could not help widening my eyes while she smiled as if she wished to excuse herself for the impropriety. After a few moments, I said, "and what, pray, have you altered about her character, so as to make her take after you? Are we so different that you felt an urge to change her? Did you not like her before? What was wrong with the old Lucretia?"
She took my hands to calm me, and it certainly had its impact upon me. "Dear sister, you know who pictures the English officer in my head, do you not?"
"Sergei Kuznetsov, of course," I said, still gazing into her eyes.
"Well, I felt that his character would not match yours; I mean to say that their stories would not match. Lucretia was quiet, just as you, and would not disturb anyone with her cares; thus was the officer as well, therefore my story would be insipid, plain, artful."
As sweet as she tried to be, I caught a note of shamelessness in her voice, which led me to believe that she was not at all in pains that I had been wiped away off her pages. "Very well, it is your story, not mine," I at last added. ""Yet I find it difficult to believe...", I began. But how could I tell my beloved sister that she was not entitled to hope for Sergei Kuznetsov's affection? As lively as she fancied herself, we were very much alike. She had her passionate ways and she managed to develop inclinations for objectives that she would eventually achieve. But could I not do the same? Oh, so horrid are the expectations from an elder sister! One cannot be at peace with their siblings, especially with Olya.
"Difficult to believe what..?", she responded after noticing how my eyes wandered upon the walls.
"I do not know... I might not express myself very credibly, but is it not more likely that your story shall not become real, now that you have made an effort to write it down?"
She seemed confused by my twisted reflection, therefore I added:
"Olya, you should consider this: there are many, many writers that have related stories that have taken place at a certain time in the past" - I stressed the words as I saw her green eyes turn away from me. "And very well even, for we should not know about them if they had not! I do not mean that your stories will lack in success, for you are very, very talented" - she smiled - "but I am afraid for your happiness."
My last words left her in utter confusion. I no longer knew what I was saying, let alone her! And then I found a peculiar pleasure in the game.
"What do you mean to say by that?"
"Well, there are two main reasons, Olya. The first one is rather childlike and most improbable. Well, think a little; you become famous and the love story between Lucretia and the English officer - Frank - as well. Sergei reads it and there is a slight chance that he forms an idea of who the officer might be. This is why I fear you shall not be happy."
Surprisingly, my sister began to laugh. "Nonsense, nonsense, I shall never gain renown, try though I might. And what is your second reason?", she continued, taking a deep breath.
"This is not as childlike, though it is very superstitious." Olya's eyes widened as she showed me that she was looking forward to hearing it.
"You might know nothing about this, but I shall tell you anyway. You know that I am very imaginative, just like you, do you not?"
Olya nodded.
"And therefore I dream a lot, this is quite evident."
Olya nodded once more.
"Yet I do not only dream at night, my dear sister. I dream during day as well. It is quite strange and unheard of for you, but I assure you that you have the same habit. Only that you prefer to write your dreams down and call them stories."
"What in the world are you trying to say, Katia?", she whispered with unfounded fear.
"Be not alarmed, I shall get to the point in a moment. As you dream of Lucretia and Frank, I dream of an unnamed prince and myself. This is what every girl imagines at our age, is it not? Yet I see with every passing day that my dream is so unreal and impossible, that I begin to believe that I dream for nothing; and I do not know if this is ever going to change, for I am rather unusual. And this... my dear sister, is why I fear that Kuznetsov shall never reply to your affections."
"You do not ...really believe in that, do you?", Olya replied taking my hands in hers again. "I am sure we shall both be very happy; and we shall be friends till eternity, shall we not?"
We both burst into laughing, "yes, quite so," I replied, putting an end to our chat just as the clock struck twelve.
The following morning brought me much distress from Nina's part. She was undecided whether to wear the light blue gown that she had recently received as a gift from our mother or the white silky one at the approaching ball. I much prefered the first choice; firstly, for Nina's eyes matched the colour and the dress brought sweetness to her features, whereas the other option was common among the other young ladies that would attend the event, and secondly, to honour our mother's kindness as in giving each of us such a present.
"But what if I am the only one to wear such a colour? I would not stand being stared at the entire evening. Katia, I am afraid!"
I approached her bed to take a closer look to the two gowns. Indeed, the blue one was quite a novelty, for every girl would choose to wear white - but then again, Nina was the host's daughter! Of course she had reason to shine among the others; and, besides that, the white dress was a little worn out; much too often had our parents invited their friends to dine with us, and since Nina's age demanded a proper match of colour, white had been her best option.
But she was already sixteen; she gleamed with beauty, it was her time; at least so I thought. I did not know what to say.
"But, Katia, what will you wear?", I heard Nika ask.
I thought a little before I answered merrily:
"Why, the violet gown!"
That was specifically the gown mother had given me, yet I had not wholly intended to wear it on this occasion. It was only the distress in Nina's eyes that determined me to give her that answer.
"Oh, lovely, how lovely indeed!", she cried and started dancing. No doubt that she was already picturing herself at the ball, led by a very handsome gentleman.
With joyful eyes I watched her as I felt that something in myself was altering. I could not fully comprehend the matter, yet I could recognize the change in me: some time prior to this day I would have cried more joyfully than Nina and would have danced with a great deal more spirit than her. And yet... I could not understand why I had become so dull, happy only within. The age, I supposed back then.
But was I really that old as to never be able again to live carelessly and smile on each occasion? No, I knew, this change had begun the day the rumours about the war had first made their appearance. Oh, how I regret having lied to myself about its not affecting me!
"What is it? Katia?", I heard Nina's voice; she had finished with the jumping around and was now attending to myself. "Are you well?"
"Yes, quite well, thank you," I replied, excusing myself at last.
"Where are you going?", I heard Nina cry after me.
"Yes, where am I going?", I thought then. I was just about to sink in one of my first reflections upon life when Leonti appeared with a bright smile on his face.
"Where you going anywhere, young lady?"
"Not at all, I suppose. Have you got any plans?"
"Mind if we go for a walk?"
It was an unusually cloudy day of July and I was not very sure whether to accompany my brother. To fall ill just two days before the ball was the last thing I wanted! Yet I felt a need to get out of the house which I could not explain. It was but until Leonti began to use his usual charms on me that I replied positively.
"Then you did not really mean what you said the other day," he said while offering me his arm. I looked at him and tried to read his features; his eyes certainly betrayed his intentions. He played the game with a sole purpose: to regain his authority over me.
"Why, of course I did!", I replied with a smile. "Do not try to disarm me with your lovely words and charming looks! I know better than that."
"Oh, and that is perhaps the reason for your accepting to join me."
And as we strolled along the boulevards, my attention was captured by the latest shop windows. The fashion had not changed so much since my former observation. I slowed down my pace while I felt Leonti's arm dragging me forward; I could not help but look at the gowns on display - "so pretty," I thought. "I should tell mother when we return home."
" 'Morning," I heard Leonti say in a loud voice.
"Who was that?", I enquired, turning my head to see two gentlemen fashionably dressed.
"Friends of friends."
"Friends of friends?", I repeated in my head, "do I sense a change of tone in his voice?" Then, raising my voice, "and are these... friends of friends invited to our ball?"
He frowned and then looked at me, saw me smile and said:
"Yes, they are."
Two hours of wandering around had passed when I finally declared my defeat:
"Leonti, might we rest for a bit? I am truly exhausted!"
He rolled his eyes as if he wanted to say that our walk had only begun, yet took me to a bench nearby. Instead of sitting beside me, he chose to watch the mild Moskva's flow.
"It is peculiar to me that you have chosen such a day to go for a walk," I said turning to him. "It is going to rain... soon."
"Oh, Katia, what importance has it? I am to leave before the rain will wet your lovely curls."
"What do you mean by that?", I exclaimed with fear.
"Can you not see the signs around you? Everyone is preparing for the war, and so do I! You have lived in a cushioned cage, this world of yours; you fancy yourself safe."
"And why should I not? Is there any reason not to?"
"No, not really...", he said before sinking in silence.
Noticing that he would say nothing, I approached a different subject.
"Who were those two gentlemen that you greeted?"
Leonti at last sat down by my side. "Well, to satisfy your curiosity only, one of them was count Gavrilov, a cousin of the family your are acquainted with. The other one I fear I know only by sight and name. He is a rather mysterious fellow; prince Karminsky, as I recall."
"Why is he so mysterious?", I asked.
"I do not know... I assume he does not have many friends and attends very seldom public gatherings. Why should I know?"
"Indeed." And, after thinking a little, I continued puzzled: "but if he does not join society so often, why then has he accepted our invitation?"
Leonti laughed as the first raindrops clinged onto us: "why do you not ask him at the ball, Katia? I simply assumed that he does not go often to events. Now, it is time we returned."
We had to quicken our pace so as not to become entirely soaked and catch a dreadful cold. When I finally went downstairs to join the others, only my sisters were to be found.
"Katia, at last! We have been waiting like mad for you! Now sit and tell me what was wrong with you this morning," Nina started.
"I do not know what you mean."
"Why, of course you do... you know, when we were talking about the ballgowns and you remained silent and fixed the floor with your eyes... you cannot have forgotten!"
Oh, I remembered too well the events Nina was so eager to revive. But I could not bear to acknowledge once again the change in myself.
"Never mind," Olya interfered. "Now tell me, are you wearing the dress mother gave you?", leaning towards me as if she was trying to catch every change in my countenance.
"Yes, must I not?", I replied distractedly.
"Well, I was hoping I would borrow it... it is just so pretty and vivid!"
Before she could take back her words I cried: "and am I not pretty and vivid?"
"I did not mean that, Katia! Pray forgive me - I only meant to compliment the dress, undoubtedly!"
"But what is wrong with your green gown? I am sure it suits you far better than mine does!"
Olya thought of a reply and found one in "I do not know... could we just exchange them for one evening? Please, Katia!"
A certain strategy crawled within my mind as I replied in a weary voice: "very well, you may have it..."
A series of embraces followed and at last I was left alone in the sitting-room. "If I give her my dress, I shall have an excuse to buy a new one. Perhaps that rosy-pink gown I saw this morning will do much better than the one Olya is going to wear. What a girl!", I thought. "Had I not offered her the dress deliberately, she would have stolen it straight from my closet!"
The affair of the gown was settled straightaway. My mother accepted, for some reason or another. Either because she really trusted my taste or because she did not want any arguments happening in her house.
The rain put us all in a strange mood. Olya fell asleep at noon and woke up the next morning - a very disturbing occurrence, hence my mother began to think she had fallen ill - and Nina locked herself up in her room and did not come out until dinner.
Father called on some relations in the late afternoon, leaving mother at her work for some new cushions, and I, with an avid perseverance, started painting.
My subjects were really plain - a grey vase and a withered chrysanthemum - yet, according to Dima, who was happening to stroll on the hallway and came by to see what I was preoccupied with, I was full of potential. "You are very talented, Katja."
This remark gave me enough confidence as to have finished the painting by supper. It was clear however that my skills would never be further polished and that I would never seek further occasions to paint.
When Dima announced my new-found inclination, I replied thus:
"I am afraid that I shall be a disappointment for everyone, since I am not a natural painter; since it took me nineteen years to discover this passion, I dare say it shall take me less than a day to forget everything about it."
My mother's smile froze in expectation: "what are you talking about, dear?"
"I am saying that, if you had shown me the beauty of plastic art from an earlier age, now I would have twice my current interest in it. But as you have stressed upon my having a musical talent, I believe little can be done to erase this and find pleasure of a non-musical sort."
"Katia, you are talking nonsense," Leonti concluded, as the meal continued quietly and was at an end soon after my outbreak. However, before any family member left the table, I felt it necessary to apologize.
"I am sorry, I have been unusually bold lately. Do forgive me."
After supper I took the liberty of not joining the others in the sitting-room. I felt truly so tired that I went straight to bed. "Tomorrow I shall be the old Katia again."
Another morning found me in contemplation of the previous day. I had said meaningless things, and as my dream still persisted inside my mind, I looked at the painting I had been so desperate to finish just one day before. It was the work of an artful, insolent girl; it deserved no place on my desk.
Before I had time to get up and take it away, Nina stormed into the room with an odd look on her face.
"Katia, you would not believe what I dreamt of last night!"
I frowned as I revised my own dream. "Strange, for I have had an unusual dream myself. Tell me, will you?"
Nina crawled beside me in bed and began:
"I dreamt of you, actually, but you were not the same Katia I knew. You were grown up..."
I widened my eyes and asked, "in what way?"
Nina smiled but quickly returned to a serious look: "well, you were married... in the first place. But I assume that could not make a great difference. My dream was very static, you just sat in front of a window and looked out of it. You did not say anything, but your face seemed grown up. It was still pretty and had its charms, but something in it was changed."
"And how did you infer that I was married? And to whom?"
"You had a letter in your hand, and it was signed, 'your loving husband'. I cannot tell who he was," she laughed, "but I assume he was very handsome and rich."
"Oh, Nina, this is no strange dream. Wait until you hear mine!"
And so I told her about my enthusiasm when finding that more soldiers were needed to battle and how I enrolled straightaway leaving my family in great confusion, dying soon after arriving on the front, killed by pneumonia.
"Why would you dream of something like this?", Nina exclaimed. "Women are not allowed to battle, are they?"
I saw doubt in her eyes and quickly answered: "No, they are not. And it is for the best, I think. I wonder if Olya is up."
We found our sister on her bed with her daily dress on, surrounded by piles of sheets of paper, writing like desperate.
"Olya, it is half past seven! You cannot be writing at this hour! Wait, you have not slept at all, have you? I bet you stayed awake all night and wrote at your love story," I added with a slight smirk.
She raised her head and looked at us before replying:
"Actually, I threw the story away. I could not bear to see how Frank tore Lucretia's life apart!"
I approached her and knelt beside the bed:
"What on earth were you thinking? What are you working on now?"
"Poems, my dear Katia, poems."
Nina was ridiculously surprised when hearing that, for she had not known about her occupation; it was a complete shock for her - yet I knew somehow I should not be. Olya's talent was indeed in vast supply and she could not channel it in only one direction, which hitherto had been prose, for her creation needed constant refreshment; I let her be, only hoping that the day would come when she would show me her work.
After breakfast mother came to me and asked me if we should go and purchase that gown I had been so eager to have.
"Why should we wait until lunch? Besides, look, the weather is outstandingly nice. Not like it was yesterday, anyway; we should go straightaway!"
We did not take the carriage, both because of the proximity of the shop and the state of the weather.
The affair of the dress was soon taken care of and I got myself the most beautiful gown eyes had ever been given to see. "Olya can have my dress if she likes; I shall have a prettier one."
On our way back, mother greeted a young gentlemen which I thought I knew. It was only until she spoke his name that I acknowledged his identity and associated his name with a proper face and conduct.
"Good morning, count Gavrilov!"
He stopped, taking his hat off, looking me deeply (unusually deeply, I dare say!) in the eyes, (was it surprise in his eyes that I saw?) - greeting us both. Mother made the proper introductions and count Gavrilov felt it necessary to add:
"I believe I saw princess Tvardovskaya the other day, you were with your brother, were you not?"
I smiled. I wanted to show remembrance of the event, yet I found it inappropriate to admit. Alas, "yes, quite so; I did not have the pleasure to meet you and your... friend, for my brother was in such a hurry."
"Excuse me, I have spotted a pair of gloves, do you mind if I leave you alone for a moment? I shall be back in a bit," mother said.
And there I was, with count Gavrilov, chatting about prince Karminsky.
"And I told Karminsky, 'no, they must be in a rush", but he did not believe me. He enquired about you, princess."
I widened my eyes (once more; I believe it had become a habit of mine, given all the surprising situations I had begun to be in) - "and what did he enquire about myself?"
"Oh, nothing special; he simply asked who you were."
"Indeed, nothing special", I said turning my head with disappointment.
He took a deep breath which drew my attention and said:
"But I did not know back then who you were; I might have hinted that you were... well, that you were prince Tvardovsky's betrothed."
Incapable of uttering another word, I simply stood there and watch his expression change from jesting to frightened.
"But Leonti is not engaged - I am sure you knew that!"
"I did not... you see, we are not the closest of friends. I mean, we are, but not so close as to tell us about our... more intimate affairs."
"An engagement is not so intimate an affair as you might think, count Gavrilov," I said looking away.
"Do forgive me."
Mother returned, and therefore we had to part ways with count Gavrilov.
"What a nice young man he is!", she remarked. "Very good-looking, too!"
"Mother, I shall not marry him."
"Did I slip something of a hint?"
We arrived home, where preparations for the ball were in progress. Everyone was busy except for me. My mother finally assigned me with managing the kitchen and making sure that there were enough groceries supplies - "how wonderful!", I thought. Alas, was there anything else for me to do?
The time passed faster than I had expected - than we all had expected!
I was soon preparing for the ball, at last! And great was Olya's surprise when she saw my new gown. I noticed that she was refraining herself from asking me to give it to her and exchange once more our garments. "But not this time, sister!", I smiled at my reflection in the mirror.
The first guests had arrived but I was not ready. Yet.
There was an issue with the dress. It was a little too long at the back; it caused me plenty of distress, for I did not want to look like a peacock and be stepped on. Mother kept telling me:
"Katia, there should not be a problem, the shoes are the solution. They shall make you taller --"
"What, those shoes? Mother, I do not want to be the tallest being there is - I am already too tall."
"Nonsense, nonsense, I am sure count Gavrilov shall surpass your height --"
"Enough with count Gavrilov, please... very well, give me those shoes," I said at last, seeing that nothing else could be done to tame the situation.
"See, you aren't that tall!," mother said. "Now let us go to your sisters."
"How lovely you all are!", she exclaimed when seeing the three of us. "Will you join me downstairs now or wait until the arrival of the younger guests?"
We looked at each other with indecision. I had made my decision but could not share it with anyone. Nina was so impatient that she could not wait anymore; she left us. There was one thing that Olya and I wanted to know about each other.
"Why did you not go?", I asked her first.
"Why do you not tell me first?"
"I cannot. You shall see. Now answer!"
She started pacing in the room, now and then throwing a glance at the large mirror near the door. She loved to watch her - my - gown flow in the air. "Will you?", I repeated.
"Why, yes... I shall... just a moment." Approaching the mirror she contemplated her face and only then did she turn to me and begin to speak.
"I need to create suspense, Katia. If I go straightaway not only that those old friends of father's will place me odious questions about my insipid life, but also all young men will find me there... conversing with those old people, and none of them will consider me a possible dance partner."
I looked puzzled at her and responded:
"With this dress and this hair? With that smile, Olya? You surely do not know your true power over 'young men'."
"I have no power as long as you are anywhere around me!"
I remained silent while she adopted a sad look. "It is true, you will forever surpass my efforts. You are a hundred times lovelier than me!"
"You cannot be serious, Olya!"
"I might be... oh, dear me, it is nine o'clock already! I believe everyone is downstairs! We must go."
"Wait, I must fetch Leonti!"
I found him in his chamber, getting ready himself.
"Leonti, I need you. Are you going downstairs now?"
"Yes, of course. What do you need me for?"
I smiled as I told him, "well, I need to enter the ballroom with someone, do I not? Dima is taking Olya --", "shameful lie, Katia", I thought -"so you are my single option."
"Poor Katia," he said laughing. "Very well."
This ball was the first to leave me entirely speechless. Then I realised why we rarely threw balls; mother had her strategy - she wanted to imprint in the minds of the people the image of the perfect ball, with flawless decoration and impecable serving, marvelous music and wonderful parties, so that they would remember it as a tool of comparison with other events.
When we stepped into the ballroom there were few faces that did not turn to us. There were four groups of people that I could distinguish.
The young ladies - the girls - they stared in turns at my brother and at myself for different reasons. Some saw in Leonti a good match and a great sight, while (do forgive my selfishness) some admired my looks; some, I assume, did not know who I was until their mothers - the old ladies - whispered in their ears, "his sister, Ekaterina Tvardovskaya". Then they would all breathe out with relief; relief that I was only his sister.
Furthermore, the old ladies saw in me a great match for their sons and respectively in Leonti for their daughters.
The old gentlemen saw in both of us the playful children that had once eaten all of their olives in their own sitting-rooms, while the young gentlemen - and here comes my favourite part - saw in my brother a rival, and in me an 'astonishing example of flawlessness.' (Seriously, I heard a voice in the crowd say that.)
Leonti took me to Olya, which was chatting with none other but Sergei Kuznetsov.
"How come you chose to favour us with your presence, Kuznetsov?", our brother asked, drawing Sergei attention from poor Olya. She looked at me with despair, and that could mean only one thing.
"We spoke of hunting, Katia! Hunting!", her eyes made me infer.
"And how do you do, princess?", prince Kuznetsov addressed me.
"Very well, thank you. Are you enjoying yourself?"
"Yes, a great deal, especially with such a charming companion as princess Olga!"
I broadened my smile and glanced at Olya. She suddenly brightened her countenance. The dancing began and many couples were formed. It was not long until count Gavrilov found me and asked of me the first dance; I immediately accepted and let myself sink in the revelry.
While dancing I looked around myself and saw Leonti dance with Maria Gavrilova, the eldest of the five sisters. This did not amaze me as much as seeing Olya not with Kuznetsov, but with a very good-looking but imposing young man, whose identity I was not sure of.
There were two more dances - I was 'kind enough' to accept the invitations of two of my distant cousins but was impatient to finish the jumping and the spinning around. The lights had begun to confuse me and was this close to collapsing down. It led me to an epiphany - I was not made for large crowds; I was a solitary creature.
When at last I got the chance to sit down and rest, Nina came by and asked me how I found the ball.
"Exhausting, dear Nina, simply exhausting!"
She sat down beside me and took my hand:
"Do not forget to smile, for everyone will like you better when you show to be enjoying yourself. Alas, we have a lot of dances ahead!"
"With whom have you been dancing so far?"
"Well, Dima, count Gavrilov and prince Kuznetsov. I do wonder, however, if Olya's partner shall ask me."
She pointed at our sister who was vividly conversing with that young gentleman.
"Who is he?", I asked her.
"I do not know, but I shall ask mother for you."
As she rose from her chair I stopped her with my hand, "no, you should not, I shall ask Olya herself when she is done chatting with him."
I felt strange - Olya had admired my beauty and looks, complained that I would steal all of her glow with my radiance; but she was the one talking to that man, not I; this thought upset me. I was soon joined by Sergei Kuznetsov who tried to mend the situation.
"Is anything the matter with you?", he asked with a hint of compassion.
I wished most ardently to advise him to go and keep Olya company, not me; it was her that needed his attention, not poor Katia, poor lonely Katia.
"Not at all, sir, thank you; I am currently resting."
"It seems that the dancing has affected your spirits; you were very joyous upon entering the ballroom."
"Yes, I do believe that too much exercise has had its impact upon me. Does it happen to you as well?"
He looked away - in Olya's direction, I thought - and replied:
"It is not from the dancing, I suppose; but when the most beautiful young woman my eyes have ever been given to see is engaged for every dance that I intend to ask her to, I cannot help but suffer from it."
"Oh, prince Kuznetsov, I am sure that my sister did not mean --"
I became quiet as I saw that his expression did not say my sister - still I continued:
"...I am sure that Olga did not mean to upset you. But," I added, "I would be more than pleased to take advantage of her being preoccupied with somebody else."
Sergei Kuznetsov smiled, beautifying tenfold his already handsome features. "Thank you, princess."
The dancing resumed and I could not help but feel every bit of my body in horrid ache. "By the end of the ball I will have had enough of dancing for the rest of the year!", I thought while prince Kuznetsov led me with incredible grace through the other couples. "Oh, wait, it is already July. Well, five months is quite a long period of time!", I pondered.
As I was being whirled around, I saw Olya dancing with count Gavrilov; as soon as I caught her eye, she threw me an unusual glance. It was happiness mixed with sorrow, I thought. "I shall ask her later."
The guests were leaving after some time - they were all very pleased with the event and wished to attend one again; I was looking forward to my warm pillow, out of those shoes and dress. But I had one more thing to settle.
"Olya, why did you look so sad when you were dancing?"
She smiled, but hers was a sad smile. "You were dancing with Sergei, Katia... why?"
I was very confused by this. "Well, he actually expressed the intention to ask you for each dance, but everytime he tried to, you were busy with someone else. I could not continue with 'oh, yes, Olya is always so, she does not keep her promises'." This lie almost brought me to tears.
"Oh, now I see... well, I guess I have to thank you... though I could see from the beginning of the ball that he finds no interest in my person... you know, when you and Leonti came, we were discussing the possibility of our coming to his father's estate for the hunting season!"
"So I was right," I said in a whisper. "Well, you must not despair. You have plenty of suitors. Especially that young man, who was he?"
She blushed as she whispered, as if nobody else would hear her, "that, my dear Katia, was prince Karminsky."
I woke up rather late the following morning, I missed breakfast, I missed the sunrise; "that is what happens when one stays up late chatting with Olya," I said, quickly getting ready to go downstairs.
In the sitting-room I found Olya and mother. Nina and father had gone for a walk in the park, and as for Dima and Leonti, nobody knew where they were to be found. As usual.
"How did you sleep, Katia?", mother enquired. "Most certainly that you were tired!"
"Did you see last evening how she danced? As if she had wings instead of feet!", remarked Olya.
"Quite funny, indeed," I replied. "I thought count Gavrilov would never let go of me!"
The morning passed quite pleasantly and around one o'clock a visitor was announced.
"Prince Viktor Andreevich Karminsky," the servant said.
I looked astonished at Olya, then at my mother, but both of them seemed at ease. I assumed they had been aquainted with him the previous night.
Prince Karminsky was indeed Olya's dance partner. He had somehow of an impetuous aura around him, yet seemed calm at the surface. He had perfect manners, a soothing voice and deep, black eyes.
"Prince Karminsky, what a pleasure to have you here!", mother started and, before she offered him a seat, he made the remainder of introductions.
"I believe you have not been acquainted with our dear Katia," she said.
"Indeed, I have not had the pleasure until now," he replied, piercing me with his eyes.
"What is the reason for your bestowing upon us the pleasure of your presence?", she continued. 
Was it just my fancy or did he gulp?
"I promised prince Vladimir to call on you, ma'am, the previous evening. May I compliment you once more on the astounding party?"
"Thank you, prince Karminsky, though it is my daughter, Olya, that has made the greatest of efforts. I assume you and Dima are good friends?"
He had been wandering with his eyes on every object in the room, not because he found our furnishings impressive, but rather because he did not want to meet mother's eye.
"Yes, we are."
"Well, then, I think someone should fetch him." Melodramatically looking around, as if she was searching for someone available - someone who did not have the wonderful prospect of marrying him, someone whose presence was not entirely essential, someone like me, for that matter - she said:
"Katia, why do you not go and get your brother?"
I immediately accepted, but did not go until I saw Karminsky's reaction at the word 'brother'. He seemed to silently choke in his words, could not keep his eyes on anything; "so he did not know", I thought to myself.
When I returned to the sitting-room, joined by Dima, I could notice that the conversation was mainly held by mother. Prince Karminsky had lost the momentum of the previous night; he was not speaking much, which made Olya doubt his intentions of proposing at all.
He greeted Dima with warm words and resumed to his seat near Olya. I had an excellent view upon them, and since I was not very useful to anybody, I could lay my eyes on them as much as I wanted.
Karminsky indeed was a friend of Dima's, but as he had never shared his acquaintance with us, we would not know. Even Leonti had been spared this knowledge.
Unfortunately, our guest could not stay too long. He used marvelous words to form an excuse, his eyes wandering back and forth on Olya and myself, ignoring our mother who had much hope in his coming again.
"Dima, how come you never told us about this friend of yours? Do you see his impact on Olya?"
"Well, mother, I did not know until now that he would prefer her! He told me once that his father wished him wedded to one of the Gavrilovs."
Olya adopted a sad look as she said, "and I suppose he shall honor his father's wishes, shall he not?"
Dima put a wide grin on, saying, "no, I believe he is too unconventional for that."
"But he seemed such a well-bred young man!", mother exclaimed.
"I believe he is, mother," I interfered, though I could clearly see that only Olya was allowed to make a remark about Karminsky. Still, I continued: "he would not have paid us the visit if he was not."
"Yes, quite so, Katia," Dima agreed, "I dare say he is too deep a person for social conventions. Most of the time."
"True, for our sweet Olya is an exception!", mother concluded.
Soon she left us, with Olya following her - perhaps intending to talk further about the matter - and I remained with Dima. Just as I was preparing to play a piece at the pianoforte, Dima said:
"Poor Olya. She does not know a thing about prince Karminsky but fancies herself his bride."
I snickered and replied, "why should she not?"
"You are about to see, he will not marry her."
He left me alone with my music.
"No, I am sure that he will propose."
And my prediction seemed to materialise, for prince Karminsky came by once more. Thus we learnt more particularities about himself.
He was the son of a very respectable gentleman, owner of six estates spread all across Russia, two near the outskirts of Petersburg; mother almost passed out after hearing that, imagining that her daughter, Olya, could be mistress of those places. He had an elder sister, Sophia, whom for the past twenty-seven years he had cherished more than anything, he was very fond of reading poetry; it seemed that he had no flaws in his manners and habits - at least so we thought.
It was only after Olya and mother had left the room that he began to speak in a more comfortable manner. There was just Dima and I left and I could sense a change in his conduct, as if till then he had refrained himself.
"Seriously, Karminsky, reading?!", Dima started.
I had gone to look out of the window, and since the room was very large, my presence was almost neglectable. Still, I could hear them.
"Well, what else could I say? Reading would have been an appropriate thing to say. The first thing I inferred about your sister when I saw her was that she was very fond of literature."
It startled me to hear that he could read Olya so easily. But I remained still, glad that I could eavesdrop on their conversation.
"She will kill you when she finds out that you do not care at all about poetry. You, Viktor Andreevich, to waste your time with reading!"
I heard their laughter and I began to wonder if they had really forgotten about me. However, my doubt soon vanished.
"Katia, what do you find so interesting outside? Come and sit with us!", my brother called.
As I approached them, I felt a sudden fear of our guest. I was afraid of his eyes and their ability to disarm me. "Leave already!", I wanted to cry.
I feared his voice only a little, for I knew that he would not talk whatsoever. We had Dima instead to find pleasant subjects for all of us. And by 'us', I mean the two of them.
"When the war has been declared, will you enroll?", he asked prince Karminsky.
"I cannot wait to get rid of the society, if I am to be honest. All of the silly cares of the people that I am so weary of!"
This statement made me quietly ponder on his character. I did not look at him with surprise, instead I remarked within myself that he indeed was very unconventional. And with a young lady present as well!
Dima also noticed that his words were entirely inappropriate for the circumstances, therefore widened his gaze on Karminsky. This made the latter add:
"I am truly sorry, princess, but I feel that your understanding exceeds common boundaries."
"Is that a compliment?", I asked myself. "How could I know?" I could only watch him as he once again pierced me with his black eyes.
"Thank you," I replied at last, almost in a whisper.
Dima turned his questioning look to myself, as if he were asking what on earth I was thanking Karminsky for. I replied with a look that said, "I have no clue."
Silence surrounded us and I felt remorse that such remarkable conversations would be given no chance to take place.
"What about you, Dima? Will you enroll?," I asked my brother.
He stared at me in confusion for a while, then added with a sort of pain in his voice:
"I do not mean to upset you, for you are my most beloved sister. Not only mine," he said as he lowered his voice, "I am sure that Leonti likes you best of all three sisters as well."
I looked at our guest - I could read confusion in his features - before saying:
"And what about my question? Are you going to enroll?"
Dima became more nervous as he replied, "I do not mean to hurt you, but yes, I do want to leave."
If it had not been for prince Karminsky, I am sure that Dima would have said laughingly, "no, by no means," yet, as we had received an excellent example of bravery and independence from our guest's part, my brother had no other choice but admit their being alike in their decisions.
"But do not tell anyone, Katia," he added.
"I know better than that."
I was about to bring music up when mother stormed into the drawing-room, accompanied by Olya. They sat down and the conversation took a more feminine direction.
"I gather that you are fond of poetry, prince Karminsky?"
"Very much, madam," he replied with a charming smile; he had returned to a somewhat refrained manner, yet it was so subtle that it was several minutes until I noticed. I was sure that Dima had took notice from the very first moment.
"I must assure you that we have a very large library, and our dear Olya would be more than glad to show it to you. There are certainly very few private libraries in Moscow that host more books than ours does."
I could not stop watching Karminsky as he most politely thanked her, showing no signs of hiding his true self. "I wonder if he is ever discovered lying. Or if he ever tells the truth!," I thought.
And then I turned my eyes to Olya; she was more than exhilarated by the thought that she had finally found someone with other inclinations than shooting. I was sorry for her, God knows that I was, but I could not help amusing myself by the mere thought that she was thus deceived.
It was only then that I noticed: Karminsky's eyes were no longer black, but rather hazel. But I supposed it was only my fancy that assumed that his eyes changed colour whenever he told lies. "Silly me."
"He loves me!", exclaimed Olya before going to bed, after two more visits of his. "He truly does!"
It almost brought me to tears to think that my lovely sister had been lied to in that manner. I tried to mend her affection with these words:
"But do you truly love him back, Olya?"
She looked at me with incredibility:
"Why, who would not love a man that enjoys reading poetry? Really, he is one of a kind!"
"Oh, Lord, help me!", I cried within myself. "And what about Sergei?", I enquired.
"He is so boring, Katia! He bores me like none other; all those invitations to his domains, all that nonsense about hunting! Whereas prince Karminsky is much more deep, after all, he reads poetry!"
Oh, how I wished to be able to tell her the truth about her dear Karminsky! To reveal his true personality would have been so shameful of me, yet a salvation to Olya! Suddenly, a thought crossed my mind.
"But have you asked him so far about his favourite poets?"
She changed colour as she replied, "no, I have not... but I assume his are the same as mine! I must be dreaming, dear Katia!", she said, beginning to dance in our bedroom as if she was dancing with him at the ball. "Yes, this is my sole chance - he is my sole chance!"
Then, returning to bed, she said, "tomorrow, should he come, I will show him the library."
But he did not show up. I watched Olya as she stepped back and forth in the drawing-room, always looking out of the window in expectance. "Where is he?", she asked, rather herself than anyone else. "He is usually here at this hour!"
And when Dima finally came in, she asked once again.
"Do not despair, he is gone to Petersburg."
"Why?", she whispered, but Dima did not hear. He sat down on a seat beside me and whispered, "his father is ill."
"How ill?", I replied in a low voice.
"I cannot say, he mentioned nothing about the gravity of the illness."
I thought a little and then said, still whispering: "it is most certainly a serious matter, he would not leave Olya for a trifle."
Dima grinned and added: "I doubt that, I truly do."
If I had been in Olya's shoes, never would I have complained the way she did. It was a matter of life and death to her, for when she heard from Dima that Karminsky would be absent for two whole months, her faith in him shrank considerably. She would not hear; she would not bear the thought.
We could not discuss the matter openly, although we tried once.
We were all gathered in the drawing-room, aparently none of us in so horrid a state as Olya, when father brought the subject up:
"Do you have any news on the state of your friend's father, Dima?"
This was the occasion on which Olya found about Karminsky's lengthened absence from Moscow.
"I actually do, father; he wrote me this very morning. His father's condition is much better, yet some affairs still keep him in St. Petersburg. He estimated that he should be gone for two months."
The general attention was drawn to Olya, who just could not refrain from bursting into tears.
"Two months? Why?", she cried, "why?"
And she quit the room, leading us to the unanimous decision to never talk about the matter in her presence again.
There was no restraint for Dima not to tell me when alone the real reasons for Karminsky's long stay in Petersburg.
"Rumor has it that the war is approaching. They say that by the middle of September peace will be a notion craved for."
"And is there any connection between his remaining there and this news?"
Dima looked away, most certainly considering whether he should reveal the truth to me, at last replying:
"Yes, his father is making efforts to obtain him a post by Kutuzov."
Oh, that was not so terrible a secret to keep. At least I was sure that he was not avoiding Olya!
"Do not tell her, he demanded that he take care of the matter."
Alas, I had the task of watching my sister day and night as she made promises over promises that Karminsky would never have her forgiveness and that she would never trust him again.
"Why do you speak so of him? It is not like he has broken a vow or forgotten about you entirely. Besides, he apologised in the letter."
"You cannot know, Katia! You simply do not know. I am starting to believe that I do not know either... And all the poems," she then added, covering her face with her hands, "all the poems that I wrote for him!"
I wished to tell her that her efforts had not been in vain, that he would return, that her struggles would be repaid - she would not hear. And when I tried to ease her distress, she left the room in tears.
If there had not been changes in the conduct of everyone, I would have been able to foresee Olya's next move. However, she was not the joyful sister I had become used to. Her inclinations were altered; she spent more and more time outside, even during the rainy days. I could tell very well that her reasoning was in deep mortification.
It was only on the first day of September that I realised she had changed once more. In the drawing-room there was nobody but her and myself. She put her novel aside and took a seat nearer to mine, whispering, "Katia, I am in love."
My thoughts had swum around a completely different matter before hearing her; I had been thinking of a way to get new piano scores - and thus I had little time to create a proper reply in my head, therefore I chose to be ironic.
"So Karminsky is back in town, I gather!"
Then I realised that the subject was too delicate for Olya; but, to my utter surprise, she began to laugh. "Why, no, I am no longer prosecuted by him!"
I raised my eyes from my work and stared at her in amazement. "Olya, for Heaven's sake, tell me already!"
She put on a bright smile and said, "well, I am sitting by myself and so suddenly Leonti tells me that Sergei  shall call on us tomorrow."
The intelligence of her being again under the charm of prince Kuznetsov brought relief to my nerves and put an end to my distress. It was yet to see, I thought, what would become of prince Karminsky. If his intentions had been honest (and most certainly they were), the current state of my sister would affect him most negatively and perhaps end his intimacy with us. Yet I could not bear the thought - such exquisite company to leave us! It was then, oh, bless the day!, that I realised that no other company but his had made my days brighter. Short though his visits had been, full of compliments to Olya though his attentions had been, but those eyes that changed colour whenever their master chose to tell truthful statements, and those rigid remarks and distant opinions that he had let me hear! I could not feel but compassion and fear; compassion that he had been made to hide himself behind courtesy and fear that he would no longer bestow upon us an equivalent of the prior attending.
"I fear, Olya...", I began, urged to let my sister know of my sentiments, but my voice was so low that I gave up.
She tried to capture my words despite her evident lack of understanding for others, she was sunk in her own joy, I did not blame her for that though. Eventually, she said whispering: "What do you fear?"
An answer was not to be given, I decided. Yet I reconciled in this: "I fear him."
Immediately though I reckoned that Olya had not been present in my head and was not able whatsoever to recreate the progression of my thoughts. My words must have sounded odd in the least! For why should I hate Sergei Kuznetsov?
"Whom do you fear? What is there to fear at him?"
I stared my sister in the eye; feeling with every bit of me that my complexion was changing, reddening with every moment past, I said: "You are mistaken, I do not fear him."
I left her and found shelter in my room.
Two days had passed when an unexpected guest was announced. Judging by the sound of hooves that preceded his entrance, I gathered the courage to guess it was prince Kuznetsov. But upon hearing, as on the first day, that prince Viktor Andreevich Karminsky had come, my heart pounded as mad! I could not but look with desperate eyes at my mother, the only being in the room, but her eyes were set upon the visitor. He was unaltered, unsurprisingly though, and little were my distress and nervousness when I saw him immediately engaged in a conversation with her. He told us that his father's health had been restored at a quickened pace after his arrival, but he insisted that his son lengthen his stay. After mother had satisfied her thirst of information, she rised all of a sudden (startling me, for my nerves were in so tense a condition!) and, with very affectionate tone and conduct, remarked: "I have not seen Olya, I am sure she shall be so pleased to acknowledge your coming!" And so she left us to deal with each other.
I was at first decided to play the timid girl and avoid any conversation at all. But I caught his eyes - hazel again. This determined me to begin, barely blinking, trying to keep my eyes on his:
"Do not be alarmed if she never comes. Her attentions have been diverted from you."
His face was somehow lit when my words came out. He replied, "There is nothing to alarm me, but plenty to please me. I should give no credit to my education if I said what really bothers me at present."
I rested my head onto my hand, starting to feel nervous. "Then I should not like to hear it; I hold too dear your well-breeding as to not be disappointed by proof of your being otherwise."
"What am I saying?!", I was thinking. But the damage had been done.
"There is nothing in Olya that resembles you, and this I find just now."
"What are your intentions, prince Karminsky?"
My voice had become too deep and suspicious; I knew I had to oppress my words. But his eyes were turning amber even, with every second. It was as if he was glad to have the conversation.
"I have none," he finally replied. "But...", he then added, after a considerable pause, yet it was not to be. Mother stormed into the room, carrying Olya by her arm; only for a moment did I look at my sister. My eyes were drawn once again on Karminsky. One word: black.
Olya was not so keen to enquire and receive answers. I had a great deal of understanding for that, but I was most willing to know the prince's thoughts. Once Olya had remained out of common subjects, mother interfered. She seemed to be such a bore, I recall. I no longer sat quietly in my seat and rose, heading towards the window. Seeing that there was no wind blowing, no impossible temperature to keep me inside, I waited patiently till mother ended her speech about Olya's inclination towards poetry (as if the matter had not been settled long before!), I resolved on demanding a walk. As mother had been complaining of a sore throat, oddly enough, I imagined, she refused to come. However, she had not been in my mind when I asked. Neither was Olya, for that matter, but one cannot take advantage of everything at once.
It was a somehow divine intervention that forced my sister to refuse. Great were my expectations then, still greater was my contentment when the prince accepted.
"Do take your warmer shawl, Katia!", mother threw at me before we quit the room, clearly surprised that it was not Olya, but me, who was going for a walk with him.
I did not make attempts to revive the conversation; it was clear that the matter was past by then. But the silence that surrounded us almost instantly brought me back to my relentless curiousity.
"A few moments ago, pray forgive me, you were speaking of certain propensities of yours."
We had begun at a brisk pace, yet as soon as I brought up the subject he proceeded no further. He turned to me - was it only my impression? I doubt; he had approached me! - and he said, pausing every so often:
"You have commited no mistake; you have nothing to be forgiven. Indeed, I rather admire this quality of yours. It is not common that one meets such an intense temper, yet with so little on display."
He did avoid my question, I gathered; and then I feigned to play this almost challenging charade, only to catch the moment when his eyes would become once again black. For then I would know that he did have no intentions.
"So little on display?", I enquiried with a frown. His hazel eyes gave me to comprehend his thoughts. He knew that I needed no explanation, and so I found one myself. "Prince Karminsky, I am so overwhelmed by your ability to see through one's eyes!"
He revealed a most innocent smile - I immediately imagined him as a child - and he continued, resuming his walk, determining me to move as well:
"Ask your sister, princess; she must know more. One's efforts are fruitless most of the time, except for one situation. When such a magnificent but rare book is unlocked before one, there is temptation of most surreal dimensions; one has no power - at least not during the first moments - one is drawn to the pages; reads every line carefully, for fear the book should close too soon."
These words left me more than speechless. I could not find proper words, an appropriate answer, for I was unable to see the true shape of what he had said. Was it a compliment? I truly feared it. Was it a complaint? It must have been! I opened my mouth to say something, anything, for that matter, but he added:
"You have bestowed upon me so unique a privilege." His voice broke.
"What sort of privilege?", I humbly asked, aware that he was no longer disposed to answer.
He turned his head and I pressed him no more. "Should he want to speak up, I shall be waiting," was my concluding thought.
He had given away too much information, naturally, therefore I imagined there was too much willingness to reveal everything, since he chose to say, in a sincere voice:
"I have my inclinations, princess; do not trust my every word."
He seemed to favour this address; alas, my stoutness was gone. I only wished that he would let me know what placed him in so fervent, still so shady a disposition.
Hardly had I begun to will to be anywhere else, when he exclaimed, laughingly even:
"My father urged me to seek, among thousands, a suitable young lady. I could not bear to think about it. I disobliged his wish immediately. But do you know, princess, what his parting word was? That he would proceed so as to leave me without a position. What do you say about this whole affair?"
I thought for only a little, immediately making my opinion known:
"I would like to think that one must follow one's heart."
He calmly smiled, "and when one has an inactive heart, how should one proceed?"
He most probably fancied me disarmed, with no answer prepared. Oh, but those sickening cold mornings spent before the pianoforte, trying to provide meaning to each of my questions! I had never imagined that our enquiries could be so alike.
"One must - " I quickly replied, in a most serious voice, "one must follow one's mind."
He obviously remained quite at a loss, never caring even to hide the fact. He was from then on somehow distracted with his questions:
"Do you like reading, princess?"
"Philosophy only." I stressed the words in hope to find a change in his complexion. There was plenty. I had hoped, however, that he would repeat, "philosophy, indeed!" and add a compliment to my wit. Despite my insolent trust, he said nothing. Oh, how I wished to reveal the cause for my not speaking in so elaborate terms as to make this discovery pretty useless! But it was not to be, sadly. I felt so open-hearted, as if our acquaintance had been long enough as to permit it!
Other enquiries he made; but it was clear to me that he would never return to the previous profound subject that I was so thrilled to develop. Therefore, I entreated him to deal with my one-syllable answers. Instead of giving away my soul in whole, I only responded with short words; if I had indeed given him the privilege he had been so cautious to explain, he would have it no more at my rightful wish. This was my revenge for that day.
We returned inside after my quiet observation that there were violent clouds on the way; there were only mother and Dima in the room. Olya was joined by Leonti to the Gavrilovs.
Prince Karminsky headed towards my brother, leaving me in a state that mother could not mend. I sensed there was a grade of hostility towards my actions, that she agreed not my conduct. I knew very well that she liked Olya better - at least in the situation we were in. Therefore, as I was the elder sister, she made no efforts to refrain from saying:
"My Katia, why are you so mean to your sister? She has never asked anything of you!"
We were evidently sitting at a distance from the two, but the disposition of the seats was very strange - that is, I could not say whether a bless or a curse. The people that were sitting with their faces to me were mother and Karminsky. He was fairly conversing with my brother, though I could see that his attention was parted between him and myself. And so was mine. As I was listening to my mother's arguments, I both felt his eyes on me and began to think differently than before. Hitherto I had had a very peculiar emotion; it was both obliging and dishonorable that I could receive his attention. I knew Olya had had her ambition regarding him, but there was none left. Still, mother chose to disregard her sore throat and almost shouted in the room "how dear she held Olya's sentiments and how stubborn I was to take advantage of her poor state of nerves!" Dima and Karminsky most certainly heard every word; still, their manners made them abstain even a smile towards mother's direction. There was no doubt that they were not to be noticed at all, but it was me that was at risk to burst into laughter! For Olya's heart was half past full with Sergei Kuznetsov, little did she care at the time for our guest.
Still, I could not say a word; mother's inexplicable vexation took over my head.
"Do admit at least that you have done your sister wrong!", she continued her endless scold.
With the first claps of thunder, the prince rised and took his leave. In spite of her uneasy disposition, mother was able to part on friendly terms with him. I, too, feigned to look forward to our next meeting, having no clue about what would come.