Playing under Niri mountain
on the golden sand of times
growing goldencurled sirin
on mothers milk.

He is bright by mind and Spirit,
he loved by valleys and by mountain,
fog is like angels wings
lies like a crown on the head of young hero.

I looked into his eyes,
and asked, weeping quietly:
"Tell me, what icons
did you blessed, baby, elder?.."

That glorious by Spirit paladin
flashed by armors, playing
by winds of marble-snow hair,
in threshold of silent heaven

tracing thoughtful runes
on the golden sand by sword...
"His spaces many-stringed
by the waters of Lethe. by the Lunar eye

over this hill - his crown -
divine fog of El;
chamber, and flaming Singer -
here wondrous god of Titurel.

He is brigth by mind and Word
gives life to the adrooping Pleiades,
by Love, by Spirit eternally new,
by non-wasting flames

He healed me...""Then
now you are holding way to where?
And what are you have to perform?.."
"Divine thread commands

to reach hearts behind the white scar
gold covered wasteland
and at the foot of the Ashrama
erect lunar monastery."