The crossroads

I remember the crossroads in the boundless fields,
there with proud sovereignty Night
from all the evil corners of the world
at the feast he shouted the whirlwinds of rebellion.

Countless wars broke out from the south,
from the north another rumbled
and blazed among the clouds
smiles of horror malice.

I remember a cry, now drowned, now raised
helpless in the solemn roar,
there a passenger of death before the black yawn
he was sobbing, overtaken by the storm.

And maybe (I remember through wounds!)
it was the storm of my sorrow,
hanging centipede and stalk
over my world in an insane hour.

I remember how her flame died down,
like a fire in an extinguished fire,
and I remember that from my dear altar
there was no stone left unturned.

D. Debelyanov