Kingdom of God: A Quest of Holy Revolution

Cetashwayo said:

The Six-Shin Aluf flies from Vikrag Prison. The main Juror garrison inside the Navel falls. And at once, everything changes. This is not a simple coup. It is not a surgical and clever effort to capture the Patriarch.

Click to expand...

Click to shrink...

Article:

Awake, the sky is reddening,
the dawn has broken.
The flame-colored peacocks are singing,
the butterflies are flying.

The Jurors:
We are intoxicated, we weep, we grieve,
they called us to become intoxicated
in Vikrag Prison, place of the suffering,
we went in search of victory, we Jurors,
we became drunk!

The Righteous:
They came together, the Jurors,
at Vikrag, at Nachivan,
to loosen darts, to loosen fire,
to play the trumpet,
to make corpses.
The mist spreads,
the bugle resounds:
Exert yourself,
give yourself over to war,
Grand Mouflon, Pasan Ghadi,
the Jurors have come out of their hiding!

The Jurors:
On every side we
made conquests,
in Kutan, in Nachivan,
in Zarnai, in Danaan,
from here we went forth,
unto Vikrag, place of the suffering,
in the land of Nachivan,
city of the holy ghost.
There, in the place of the holiness,
we shall immolate and
descend on the righteous,
the flowery death!
Ohuaya! Ohuaya!

The Righteous:
With flowers of war,
with the trumpets of fire
in the arms of men,
there where the war rages,
in the midst of the city.
There went the Jurors,
to make war upon the righteous,
upon the old eagles, the old warriors.
From the region of the West1,
they came to crush the righteous
into the ground.
From the direction of the sun,
from the direction of the East,
the fire-trumpet resounds:
Exert yourself,
give yourself over to war,
Grand Mouflon, Pasan Ghadi,
the Jurors have come out of their hiding!

The Jurors:
With blades and shields,
on the arms of men,
we sang our flowers,
we sang our songs,
we warriors of the tricorn hat!
With blades and shields,
in the Prison of Vikrag,
in the city of Nachivan,
we set alight our trumpets,
and became drunk
with the liqor of the flowery waters.
Ah! We went in search of victory!
Ah! We became intoxicated with death!
Ohuaya! Ohuaya!

The Righteous:
The peacock glows,
in the region of the East,
the sun rises.
Be merry, you righteous:
we know that it is true,
that we must perish.
God will not make anyone once more,
the department of people continues
to the region where we all must go,
from which no one can return.
You have ordained it, O Giver of Life!
Humans through and through,
we will all have to go away,
we will all have to end here on earth,
Think on this, you righteous:
With songs you give color,
though like a painting,
you will be erased.
With fire, you make flowers,
though like jade,
you will fall apart.
We comprehend the secret, the hidden,
O righteous:
Our songs will not come to an end,
our flowers will not wilt.
We, the singers of God, we raise them up.
Though I shall go to the place
where no one can return,
my songs shall remain.
At Vikrag Prison,
the voice of Whom-We-Cannot-Know resounds:
Exert yourself,
give yourself over to war,
Grand Mouflon, Pasan Ghadi,
the Jurors have come out of their hiding!

The Jurors:
The priests, the komandirs, the atamans,
they left us orphans!
Mourn O singers,
from the regions of the West,
no one comes back again.
They led us to Vikrag, the komandirs,
in search of victories,
we became drunk,
we jurors!
Nothing but flowers and songs of joy,
are left in Nachivan, from Vikrag, from the region of the East.
Where once we were warriors,
we are crushed into the ground.
We lie in ruins,
we jurors.
We know that it is true,
that we must perish,
for we are mortal men.
At what moment did we leave the righteous flock, the free ones?
How did the jurors act,
we despised ones, almost dead with drunkenness?
We wander here and there in our desolate poetry,
we exclaim: O do not immolate yourselves!
Ohuaya! Ohuaya!
We exclaim: Let it not be you, be bold,
go to the region of the East,
where a fire-trumpet awaits you,
and a song of freedom
is sung.
Ohuaya! Ohuaya!
Not you, young warriors,
the old ones, the komandirs, the atamans,
they want to sacrifice you.
If it should happen thus, cry like eagles!
You, make haste! In search of friendship,
leave Vikrag behind.

The Righteous:
Nothing but flowers and banners of glory
are left in Vikrag, in Nachivan,
where once we saw prisoners
and slaves.
We are mortal souls.
We have seen bloodshed and pain.
Where once we had seen beauty and valour,
they, the komandirs, the atamans, had made ruins.
Whom-We-Cannot-Know called us,
to Vikrag, to Nachivan,
to become intoxicated, to become drunk!
O giver of life,
the flower of fire has descended!
Grand Mouflon,
upon the precious mat,
woven with flowers,
we, your children, invoke you!
The fire-trumpet has sounded,
Metamoa lifts the scythe,
your children are triumphant.
Grand Mouflon, Pashan Ghadi!
Are you proud of your children?
Do you smile upon us?
Ohuaya! Ohuaya!