Calming the Storm. Протоиерей Олег ШтельманЧитать онлайн книгу.

      A lie, it's alike to a poisonous snake,

      Just like rum, man's mind intoxicating,

      Here gives a birth to children without break,

      In passion's heart, it finds it's home awaken.

      A lie, it always hides the first birthright,

      And strives for power, never taking turns,

      By hiding ugliness beneath the face of light,

      It twirls everything inside just like a storm.

      It always slanders against truth

      „Just look how holy is I am!“ – of herself she's screaming

      For bloodshed battles, it confuses,

      Calling along „for truth“, it sees, life has no meaning.

      And now, as she is ready for sweet speech,

      Lie always has the lips of sweetest honey,

      Adroitly weaving traps of words unreached,

      To nowhere it always beckons so many.

      And then, as always, rivers made of blood are shed,

      And through the ruins all great minds cry,

      And at the broken trough we shall be always sat,

      Forgetting once again, now who are you and I?

      The truth without a colour or a taste you're feeling,

      Like water from a purest source,

      This is what makes it mighty and so healing,

      With power of a greatest Doctor's worth.

      The truth is modest and unselfsh as it is,

      Only a heart of pure it all can comprehend,

      A gaze so sober always finds and sees,

      The silence of this secret understands.

      The truth, it does not ever need crusades, The fire and a sword are far from truth.

      He quietly says: „Put up again thy sword into his place,“[3]

      Be strong in Truth, and faithful may you be”.

      The truth does not hit, it does not demean,

      A shelter of love there may everyone find,

      It only gazes through, the silence from within,

      So bitterly, for all upon the Cross it's crucified!

      Truth does not smolder, won't grow older for a fact,

      Sometimes for three days it may fall asleep,

      And on the third day's coming it will resurrect

      The ones who chose the road of truth to keep.

      The lie has an aim, just like always before,

      In Paradise once towards people it came,

      Sweetly deceitful with hope's taste in store,

      With deadly plaque it came engraved.

      Since those times and even still by now,

      Inside a dream in vain, drunk way through,

      They dream of being God without God somehow,

      By marrying satan in spirit as they do.

      By fireworks, mirage, and by the smoke,

      All stupefied with beauty that is false,

      In pulls one to an edge of an abyss within a stroke,

      By covering the path to Heavens with it's stance.

      To deprive the saint sons of all inheritance they have,

      This good stepfather knows what he is doing:

      Throw them into despair of abyss's endless well,

      To shut them in abyss forever, dark and looming.

      The aim of Truth is same as it has been before,

      In Paradise so sweet He told Adam to live,

      And told him just to keep in hope and therefore,

      With heart of wisdom faithfulness to give.

      Despite so many fallings,

      Malice, the slander, and the fuss,

      God wishes good for all the children fallen,

      And let them call Himself just when they're confused.

      So people, as they see the light once more,

      A light of divine truth, of love, and simple things,

      Are living full of courage as they seek the answers for

      In a refection of God's beauty, each of them may cling.

      Here, in such a holy union with God,

      Renewing inner harmony of soul,

      A man adores fully with expanse at heart,

      An immense height of God he is to follow.

      To taste infinity's eternal gift we're having,

      God's filial power to feel through as much,

      And once for all to step from century into forever, —

      A depth of immortality to touch!

      How many times by now they told the world:

      A string of death is in a sin of man;

      And do not make yourself an idol, we are told,

      Otherwise, a misfortune comes up then.

      Yet, little man is just like fly,

      It strives to get into with head apart,

      Ears do not hear and cannot see it’s eye —

      A Covenant divine, given by God.