Бессмертная, бестелесная, безвестная... Затерявшаяся... Сквозь века, сквозь ветви, изранившие бледную кожу... В воспоминания о былых битвах, о сводах храмов и запахе ладана, надгробья и голбцы иных, что приютили кости и мхи... Взывая к немым небесам, выкованным из стали... Крик не пронзит их щит... Ее крик, крик отчаянья, крик бессмертья, вечный крик, что обратится черным мхом, ветвями старых яблонь будет вздыматься к белому свету... Но без ответа. Лишь ветер колышет седые травы и точит камень...
Immortal, disembodied, unknown... Lost... Through the centuries, through the branches that rotted pale skin... In the memories of past battles, about the vaults of temples and the smell of incense, tombstones and crosses of others that sheltered bones and mosses... Calling out to the mute heavens forged of steel... A scream won't pierce their shield... Her cry, the cry of despair, the cry of immortality, the eternal cry that will turn into black moss, the branches of old apple trees will rise to the white light... But without an answer. Only the wind stirs the gray grasses and sharpens the stone...
Immortal, disembodied, unknown... Lost... Through the centuries, through the branches that rotted pale skin... In the memories of past battles, about the vaults of temples and the smell of incense, tombstones and crosses of others that sheltered bones and mosses... Calling out to the mute heavens forged of steel... A scream won't pierce their shield... Her cry, the cry of despair, the cry of immortality, the eternal cry that will turn into black moss, the branches of old apple trees will rise to the white light... But without an answer. Only the wind stirs the gray grasses and sharpens the stone...
Natalie Ina
