ELIZA WITTE

CELTIC LEGEND
2009 (c) Eliza Witte
All Rights Over Text Reserved.
ISBN 978-1-4092-5565-9
To obtain permission, please, contact:
witteeliza@gmail.com

2004 (c) Valeri Tzenov

All Rights Over Cover Art Reserved.
To obtain permission, please, contact:
v_tsenov@yahoo.com; www.tsenov-art.com

Imrpint:
www.izdavam.com, 2015
To my family.

Eliza Witte
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 Celtic Legend

The wood… The morn was playing.

Perfume – resin and earth.
The early dew was laying,
Remembering a birth.

The spirits’ feast is over.

The paper lanterns sleep.
Their homes – with soft moss covered,
And gifts were apples sweet.

The juicy fruit… Oblivion,

The drink of honey gleams.
Elves who came in millions
Were honoured in a dream.

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 The Real Summer Has Begun

The real summer has begun.

The skies were dark with ages.
I look upon my book and, stunned,
Discover empty pages.

My wanderings would last awhile

To catch the waves that kiss.
So blue, and herring gulls so white,
They’d harmonize my peace.

The dragonflies would chase the light.

Have I had a dream?
Have I ever had a flight
With my broken wing?

The portion of my freedom waits

Lost between my days.
Have I ever got its taste,
Though granted, anyway?

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 Flight

Mountains – gray and old as the land.

Their foreheads are furrowed. Time
Crosses them, leaving the sign
Of each moment on their wrinkles’ length

And clouds, tempting the poet

Who builds castles of air.

Cyclops – an open blue eye of a lake.

The wind hits their cheeks,
Wild paths conquer their peaks,
And rivers’ run cuts their veins.

And clouds tempting the poet

Who shares a secret of theirs.

Savageness, broad plane and freedom

Determine the eagle wing’s rhythm
To its marvellous flight to the clouds.

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 Summer (The Last Horizon)

Boundlessness, silence, irresistible blue

The sun was bathing waves golden...
A scream of free, wild dolphins
Became one with the summertime blues!

A dreamer sitting, the warmth of the sands,

A mood brought by the wind’s evening tales,
And a feeling, daring, like a herring gull’s wail
Gave birth to the fire of the red sunset’s dance.

From the depths, a hidden desire was rising.

It would reach the rays of the sundown today,
And defeating times, distance and pain,
It would start home touching the last horizon.

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 Irish

I dream about things never been.

I see green clover every day
And ask, “Why not?” to all my dreams:
Happy pebbles on my way.

Despising war, a warrior

I became because I live.
My path, my glorious chariot,
And my sword, and my belief.

My shield of gold my song will sing.

And freedom I will taste… and then
I’ll close my eyes for peace will bring
An angel’s wing above my land.

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 Trust

dedicated to Gymnast,
an old horse and an excellent jumper

The velvet leaned against my hand,

The tearful eyes, the veins – innate –
And the image of the grass:
A nuance that would surpass
Sophistication… Worried notes
In snorting, leather and in sweat.
Insecurity they hide.
Tenseness, the muscles load.
The trust will win, the trust will let
The jump above the broken pride
To be…

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 The Sphere

The sphere…
The sphere, which was a crystal,
A crystal, holding the thoughts,
Holding the salt of the tears,
The waterfall’s power, the blissful
Silence of the eyes that ought
To be blaming.

The taming
Of the feather’s dance in the wind,
Of the energy in the warmth of the palm,
Of the run of the indocile years,
Of the rhymes in the heads of the lindens
Of the sea – endless and calm…

This is all caught in the sphere.

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 The Lily Of The Valley

The lily of the valley and the silence…

My soul has run away.
Light in beautiful whiteness
Took course to the sun of the day.

There, my most precious lyrics

Went to visit the lake
Where the purest feeling
Beside that lily was safe.

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 Lament

The grass was slowly turning yellow.

The breeze was moaning from the sea.
The wind – unknown and peaceful fellow –
Would chase away the memory.

The coffin, white like pure tear,

A single rose in red was dressed.
Love mocks, love kills, but love would triumph
Despite its temporary rest.

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 They Who Dance Upon The Meadow

They who dance upon the meadow...

Lush green grass does bow beneath.
Blades do struggle with the shadows
For kisses poisonous but sweet.

The manes embrace the cold wind’s threads.

The warmth of life a story tells
Where fight will be recalled instead
Of braided hair where daisies dwell.

The breath – the anger born in it.

The dance is faster. Speed will soothe
Hatred and infernal heat
In dreams about the stolen youth.

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 Apocalypse

The marsh is waiting in its hunger.

Islands – cold and opened graves.
Messages of coming thunder
Are floating over bloody waves.

Divine, the ghost of crying willows

In prayers raise their naked hands
And pass the prophecy through wind blows
As stand on guard on sacred lands.

Expecting ground – upset and breathless.

Grass and anger in her hair.
Pain is hunting mad and sleepless,
And strong, and evil, and unfair.

Now recognized are rage and wisdom.

Wreckage voice moans from the deep,
Passing terror in a synchrony
With the last souls’ dying weep.

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 It Used to Be My Childhood - Mom

The spirits were sleeping,

But the mountain woke up!
The forest was breathing,
Wheedling over the fog.
The morning which was about to begin…

Here and there a tomtit would sing

In the heads of the trees, still heavy from sleep.
The air would listen, how the dear would weep.
Clouds would bother the peaks with their run.
Mystic and power – the rise of the sun!

A dewdrop on the needle of the old, white pine tree:

Colors… the view for the life of the skies.
And Mom was laughing. The world could see
The child in the adoration of her lovely brown eyes.

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It Used to Be My Childhood - Dad

It was again the middle of June.

The meadows were fresh. The grasses imagined
Adventures in green. They would reveal soon
To young curiosity colorful legends.

The air of the mountain, the mystery, the game.

Search for hope among the fir trees.
The trail of a squirrel, the butterfly’s chase
Till dusk - the night would fall with its cuddling peace.

The sleep was so heavy; the breath was so pure,

Spilled on the pillow the silk of my hair.
And the dreams were smiling, and the dreams were so sure
That the next day’d approach and it’d be all theirs.

Whiteness, the secret of the mountain would keep!

Simple is sometimes Heaven’s surprise.
And Daddy was laughing and the world could see
A boy in the adoration of his lovely, green eyes.

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 Children of the Rocks

The storm would wither their name.

Their faces – salty drops on them.
Coldness cuts and causes pain,
And faith will never be the same!

The mull was holly once – the spots

Of moss… it used to be their home.
Now gratitude in green is locked,
And only alters are white stones.

Down beneath – the roaring sea.

Its insidiousness bothered
To leave unanswered their plea
For new from their youngest brother.

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 The Flute Once Sang

The flute once sang, now melancholy

Reminds me of a stolen kiss.
The caress became symbolic,
And the harmony is missed.

The sip of water from the river

With babbling purest and shy…
How did I lose it, being a dreamer,
And could I ever say goodbye?

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 Message

The Moon-man was bringing a message,

Full of mysterious smiles.
The time was troubled, and savage
Were the storms that ruled for awhile.

The streams would murmur their secrets.

They’d giggle. Their beautiful laugh
Caressed by his hand would witness
Him bringing the eon of love.

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 Arcadia

The sound of reed pipes down the hill.

His caress. He said he loved me.
My soul – so calm, yet happy, thrilled,
And clear like the sky above me.

I saw the valleys and the woods,

The cattle white – idyllic bliss.
A picture pure like childhood
Was sweetened by his endless kiss.

A maid – belonging now – I’ll sing!

The wreath of flowers on my head.
A timid promise – it will bring
A dream fulfilled I won’t forget.

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 My Song, And There Were Daffodils...

My song… and there were daffodils that knew it!

Upon my way the thorns will be my friends.
Madly and foretold was this pursuit.
My walk barefooted now, surrendered, ends.

Alive, my blood the spirits will awake.

They angrily will yawn for I disturbed
Their peaceful sleep around the holy lake
Where unicorns drink wisdom and absurd.

My tears will be the price for their forgiveness.

The craft is spread upon the grieving plains
Where I’ll be on my knees, berate and needless,
Just to catch and hear this song again.

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Here Comes The Rain Again

Here comes the rain again.

The freshness of the spring and rainbows.
The child runs. Her laugh disdains
Fate that hangs above her brow.

The careless steps - to feel the drops

In her hair, upon her face,
To chase the naughty sunny spots
That guide her to a fairy place.

Here comes the rain again.

The brightest way to roses led.
The rose was longing to acquaint
With her. And then the blossom met
Happily her palm because
Her smile was lovelier then a rose.

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 Let Me Be

You look at me,

And you do see
A child!
But let me be,
Please! Wild
Is my dance.

Let me take the sin of my own choices.

Let me make mistakes without much sense.
Let me run, and let me hear the voices
Of my youth – new faces, faith and tense.
Let me jump from rocks, and let me see
The pleasure of the flight! I’ll hurt, I know,
And I will scream, but, please, oh, let it be
Because the flight – it will be worth it, though!
Let me ride black horses on the meadow.
Black horses are still what life is.

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And let me learn my lessons in the shadow
Of wrong paths, and venomous weeds.
Let me smoke my share of aggressiveness,
Let me taste the portion of my freedom.
Let me feel the thorns of words offensive,
And let me, let me know that I’m real.

And still you’ll know,

I locked the rainbow
In the drop of my mad days,
And in the night when you will fall
Asleep to you it will come safe.

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 Warmth

In the town the autumn came upon.

The rain was gushing so dull.
The clouds were playing with the cold;
Old churches darkened, with gray walls.

The trees, striped naked, were crying.

The day was all gone and hurt.
My fingers frozen were trying
To find sanctuary in a bag of chestnuts.

And you came, quiet and shy,

And like in an old book I once read,
You said nothing, but you gave me a smile,
And warmed my hands with your breath.

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 I Have Struggle In My Nature

I have struggle in my nature.

The wildest runs throughout my veins.
A wonderer, a happy stranger,
I play my harp in spite of pain.

A singer singing for my bread,

I praise each step upon my way.
And though despised, I don’t forget
To thank for every single day!

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 The Ride

Sometimes it used to be gloomy.

Muddy drops – heavy and rude.
Sprinkles from the ground were looming
Sticky like a sorrowful mood.

Sometimes they also look cloudy.

Lifeless. The light just cannot
Pierce discontent never told loudly
In the monotony of the everyday trot.

Sometimes it used to be spring.

The game and the sunspots above.
And the purity of a child in their being
Caressed with the most subtle love.

Sometimes it used to be heat.

And dust bound to get in the lungs,
And hoofs, that measure the heart-beat,
And blood – exalted and stunned.

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And sometimes it used to be windy.
A thunder in a withering mane.
A scent caught on the wave of the rhythm,
And a sense which could drive one insane.

Like the weather - inconstant and shifty

But beautiful as nature could be,
They’re marked each time to be different
But always to stay wild and free.

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 Diamonds Were Dancing

Diamonds were dancing

As fast as the eye hardly could follow
Their spinning and squirming, and whirling.
Diamonds were dancing
As fast as the breath hardly could touch more
Then their light trails.

Diamonds were giggling chasing each other.

Diamonds were jumping and falling
With salty air caught between their pores.
Diamonds were waltzing with
The green of the depths of the sea.

Diamonds were screaming enchanting songs

That praised their perfect existence –
An outstanding symbiosis of light, and movements, and beauty.
Diamonds turned and smiled, and thanked to
The fading sun, which gave them their birth.
Another day of the summer was about to fall asleep
In the tender embrace of the evening.

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 Witch

The forest with the silence in its temple,

Where blackbirds look for sanctuary.
Doves would come to me to take the lead.
Fear? No. The fear’s for the blind ones.
And I, I am at home right here.
The lilacs smile a thousand tempting smiles.
From them one could be easily deceived.
From them – you get an aching head .
The pine trees braid their branches in a dome.
This perfume of moss is so well known!
I grew up here in the years when…
Ah, the grass has forgotten as well.
Lilacs… and the bees upon them drink.
Is their honey still that sweet again?
And is the sanctuary during thunder
Still that beautiful?
Death-cups, they rise again their heads.
The dew, it dances so concealed on them.

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 I used to gather it in pots.
I used to make a drik from it.
It made me sleep.
And I perform a ritual, the wild
Strawberries withdraw to make my way.
A witch – the bear curled beside my feet.
The blanket of the night falls cool. The weeds,
And the moon would swim within my glance.
Everything is like those years when…
It doesn’t really matter.

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The Embrace Of Trees In Yellow

The embrace of trees in yellow,

The window stares at the day.
On my bed, I hug my pillow,
Which guards my dreams that ran away.

The city outside - charming, merry;

The sun - a dazzling symphony;
A feeling extraordinary
Brings a letter just for me.

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 Table of Contents

Celtic Legend............................................................................................5
The Real Summer Has Begun...................................................................6
Flight.........................................................................................................7
Summer (The Last Horizon)......................................................................8
Irish...........................................................................................................9
Trust..........................................................................................................10
The Sphere..............................................................................................11
The Lily Of The Valley..............................................................................12
Lament............................................................................................13
They Who Dance Upon The Meadow......................................................14
Apocalypse..............................................................................................15
It Used To Be My Childhood (Mom)........................................................16
It Used To Be My Childhood (Dad)..........................................................17
Children Of The Rocks.............................................................................18

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The Flute Once Sang................................................................................19
Message...................................................................................................20
Arcadia.....................................................................................................21
My Song And There Were Daffodils.........................................................22
Here Comes The Rain Again....................................................................23
Let Me Be.................................................................................................24
Warmth....................................................................................................26
I Have Struggle In My Nature......................................................................27
The Ride...................................................................................................28
Diamonds Were Dancing.........................................................................30
Witch........................................................................................................31
The Embrace Of Trees In Yellow.............................................................33

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 Celtic Legend
Eliza Witte
(c) 2009

Editor:
Nadia Ivanova

Consultant:
Kalina Kokanova - Petkova

Technical Consultant and Computer Design:

Stanislav Petkov
(c) 2009

Imprint:
www. izdavam.com,
2015

Front Cover Art: Valeri Tsenov, “The Matrix”, oil on canvas, 53/53 cm.; (c) 2004;
Back Cover Art: Private Archive, Hallstadt, Austria (c) 2000

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