Blue Horses

Georgian version here

This poem was inspired by Walter Crane's Horses of Neptune

Blue Horses

Like snowdrifts of mist gilded in sunset,
the shore was sun-lit in eternity’s realm.
No promise in sight, nothing to look at,
Only the quiet — nomadic and numb.
Only the quiet: the cold, rampant storm
of eternity’s realm holding nothing but grief.
Eyes covered in ash, you lie prone in your tomb,
lying in heaven, and still your soul grieves.
Through a thin forest of disfigured faces
each barren day races: hurrying, gone.
I’ve terrible visions of my blue stallions
bearing your coffin, as the world looks on.
And seconds race by. I am not concerned:
those immortal linens won’t shine with your tears.
The tortures that churned in you died — all illusions
of night: a burning soul howling with prayer.
At wildfire’s rate, like a swift turn of fate,
my blue horses dart with a thunderous roar!
There are no bouquets, no calm reveries,
only your new home — this grave’s sepulcher.
Who’ll remember your face? Who’ll speak your name?
If you moan, who’ll come? Who’ll hear you whisper?
There’s no one for solace upon those strange shores,
where cryptic chimeras sleep, darkly twisted.
Nothing could block out the light from this chamber:
from only dry numbers, still, desert winds rise!
Through a thin forest of disfigured faces
each barren day surges then, hurrying, dies.
In the mist’s rampant storm, eternity’s realm,
In heaven or tomb, by dark curse deplored:
at a hurricane’s rate, like a swift turn of fate,
my blue horses dart with a thunderous roar!