LUCIFER

LUCIFER

Darkly I shine, in the wind, I, God’s fire

A star shrieking, descending, through the deafness of night

At the sombre-most summit I mourn thwarted desire,

And with the sparks of my pain, red aurora, ignite.

I am the king of the comets, my spirit cyclones,

As a pyramid is conjured from air, desert dust,

Thunderbolt of the storm, or quiet as stripped bones

Atrocity, cadaverly, conceal, I must.

I am the abyss of the rainbow, for myself my tears flow

Like the frost wind over dead reeds of the pond,

I am the glare of the volcanoes, or boggy lowland beyond

Like a funeral, in doleful ennui, I go.

Strums the sea on the harp; whirls the inferno of bliss,

As the rising sun — oh my foe! —offers God a chaste kiss.

         by Tadeusz Miciński (1873-1918)

         translated by M.S. Adamska