In the beginning (from the Sanskrit)

“Who knows what happened first…?”

In the Beginning

Neither Is nor Is Not was,
No when nor where nor why.
There was no sky because
There was nowhere for sky.

No stir of living breath,
No signs of night or day.
And what of death? No death
Or immortality.

The One alone lay breathing
(O ask not when or where!)
In the deep mindsea seething
Unconscious, unaware.

Nothing stretched beyond him,
There He lay all alone!
No one became I Am.
Up rose the Only One!

And in the One grew Love,
The first seed of the soul.
Space then, and stars enough,
And the sky’s blue bowl.

Who knows the truth? who can
Tell how this universe
Bubbled up and began?
Who knows what happened first?

The universal Dancer,
The Dreamer with his dreams,
perhaps knows the answer
Of all that is and seems.

The why and the wherefore,
What makes Time’s river flow,
knows the reason or—
Maybe he does not know!

(Translated from the Sanskrit (Rig-Veda X.129)
by Lasha Darkmoon in collaboration with ‘MW’.
Published in Acumen magazine, September 2006,
under the composite pen name ‘Manna Domini’.

Hymn to the Unknown God (from the Sanskrit)

“You make the tinkling rivers run…”

Hymn to an Unknown God

As the sun on morning dew
Sparkles, making all things new—
We shine for joy, reflecting You.

You make the tinkling rivers run:
How happily they tumble on
Like birds that fall through air for fun!

Under your protection we
Find love and sweet serenity.
Forgive our sins and set us free!

Let the stream of my life wind
Through the green fields of the mind.
Loose the bonds of sin that bind.

Let not the web of song I weave
Be swept away, nor Time bereave
Me of the loved ones I must leave.

Let not this hymn of praise to Thee
Be lost for ever utterly.
When Time is dead, let these words be!


— Translated from the Sanskrit (Rig-Veda, XI.28)
by Lasha Darkmoon in collaboration with ‘MW’.
Published in Acumen Magazine, September 2006,
under the composite pen name ‘Manna Domini’.

Under cold moons

“Let me die beyond the sea…in the sacred haven…not under cold moons.”

Under cold moons

I must leave you
now, but I want you to know
there will never be another like you.
Before you came there was a yawning a—
byss. Then you came and the sky
rang with the song

of the angels!
The sun threw a net of gold
across the sea, the birds sang hosannas!
I wept. And I knew then the wounds of the
holy. And the kissing stones.
No other gods,

I promise! No
other altars. Incense to
you alone, my loveliest. Only this:
don’t lash me to the wall or let me gnash
my teeth in darkness through the
long night’s burning.

This my last wish:
let me die beyond the sea
in the sacred haven, not under cold
moons. There winter shadows twitch the veils of
darkness, and the hellcrow carks:
No more! No more!


Never again!

Never again!

Never again! Never again that hell!
Say it, until it sinks into you deep
Like a stone into a bottomless well.
The words will work there slowly as you sleep.

The fish has jumped the net. The devil’s hook
Looks for another mouth. You’re still in pain.
No matter. Start again! And please don’t break
Your foolish heart if you get caught again.

Forget the past, the wasteful lives you’ve lived.
How you ran, and always fell in the race.
How all the faces that you ever loved
Melt into one face finally: the face
Of One who waits for you where no wind blows
In gardens where the Tree of Knowledge gr


Carmina Angelorum

“Keep a green tree in your heart and perhaps the singing bird will come.” — Sufi aphorism

Carmina Angelorum

Insubstantial, without form
How they cluster, how they come!

Songs like falling leaves descend
Tossed to earth by heaven’s wind.

Blackbird, warble!  Nightingale,
Break your heart but tell your tale!

In spite of all your shocking sins
Angels scrape their violins

For you. This music’s from the gods.
chop the meanings, slice the words.

And yet who cares?  So many sounds
Ping like hailstones all around.

Who gives a damn for singing bird?
O goldsmith of the golden word

Know this: the best songs have been lost
And nothing beautiful will last.

Flower and leaf and Flora fall
Onto the compost heap of All.

Into the witch’s cauldron go
Love and beauty there to stew,

And out of the universal froth
These songs arise and body forth.

Though our life’s blood supplies the juice,
The golden wine gleams in the glass.

The Queen of Night

“Every day brings some new stranger…”

The Queen of Night

Never say the night is over,
Never think the race is run.
Every day brings some new stranger:
This is a game that can’t be won.

Sometimes when walking by the sea
And not a cloud or sail in sight,
You think you’ve found serenity.
And then she comes, the Queen of Night!

She creeps up on you slyly and
Kills you slowly with her smiles,
And then at last you understand
This is a hospital for souls.

The corridors are lined with skulls,
And still she bares her breasts for you
And whispers, ‘Aren’t I beautiful?
Come, take me, sir!’
— And so you do.



“There is no more time for love’s caresses…”


This is the end of days:
truly, there is no more time
for love’s caresses
in looming tomb.

There is no time for anything
at all. There is only
time for meditating
and being lonely.

See, how the smoke rises
from the mind’s dark wood
in puffs and curlicues

that are not understood.

We call them thoughts, but they
are really devil smoke
from the chimneys grim and grey
of Ravencroak.


The Summer Gardens of the Flesh

In the reign of the feminine
When your skin was a golden flush,
In the age of desire, in
The summer gardens of the flesh

When everything shone and was precious
And the rivers ran singing to sea
And the fruit on the trees hung luscious
And all things were as they should be:

I barely noticed a thing,
I walked in a dream and was dull,
Blind to your bright eyes sparkling—
Blind, blind to you, my beautiful!

And now that the light has vanished
From your eyes, and my heart is cold,
And the play is nearly finished
And the story is almost told,

I see you once more as you were!
A fragment of the Beautiful,
Fading. Soon, soon to disappear
Into the black night of the skull.

It is finished


It is finished. Yes, this is the last time!
Never again the hook in the mouth, howling
To be cut free. Never again the same

Cage for cooping, wolftrap in wood of wailing.

What ways to heal the grieving heart? These three:
Prayer and fasting and a daily dying.
And if a fourth were needed, let it be
The crowning touch that sanctifies: forgiving.

Forgiveness absolute and unconditional
For all who crave forgiveness and who cry
For meaningfulness and the eternal,
And like the sibyl say—I long to die!

And may this mantra make your anguish end:
It is finished, finished, it is finished!

Happy Lands

"...and the nights are long and thrilling...and the kissing never ends."


They think they’re now in heaven
As they strip off all their clothes
In the pleasure lands of Satan
Where the rose of rapture blows

Where the swooning violins
Sound so sweetly on the air
And the loveliest of sins
Come in answer to your prayer

Where the girls are wild and willing
And the boys your bosom friends
And the nights are long and thrilling
And the kissing never ends

Where there’s no more any weeping
And there’s neither moth nor rust
And the Unborn all lie sleeping
In the happy hills of lust.



Feast your eyes on my beauty. I am the
irresistible. Imagine me Lilith
now. I am the Eternal Feminine.

I am attar of girl in the long green
grass, flowerscent of the feminine wrapt
in the golden silk of the flesh, oozing

oestrogen and the summer’s honeygums.
I am Lilith under the lemon tree,
Lilith lolling in long lapping shadows.

I am imbued with Lilith, drenched with her
dewflesh. I am Lilith come back to life.
It is Lilith you long for. Her longlashed

eyes bewitch you from behind the gold mane
of my hair. She peeps from me. She’s the red
blood, sluicing through my veins like vintage wine.

My smile is her net, my eyes her drowning
pools. Stranger, I am waiting. Speak to me
now. I melt. I am Lilith in liquescence.

I am sea. I am river. I am the
ripe peach of the moon. Oh pluck me! take me
back to the lost gardens of paradise.

Painting: The Birth of Venus, by Manfred von Penz
Dedit mihi Dominus arte mercedem meam et in illa laudabo nomen Eius.


The Keys of the Unseen


It is I
who hold the Keys of the Unseen.
All the treasures of knowledge are laid bare
before me. All images
of time—past, present and future—
I make them,

I weave them
into my web, I cherish them
dearly. Not a leaf falls to the ground with
out my knowledge. Not a blade
of grass grows in the far field un-
seen by me.

Not a snow
drop lifts its head in the shadowed
woods, that does not live its dark secret life.
All things have their histories
written down in Sijjin in the
Book of Deeds.

that can be known, is known. Someone
knows it. I am the one who visits you
at night in dreams, who sees all
you do in the secret room. One
day I will

raise you up
from the dead. You will be with me
where I am, and I shall show you the stained
sheets of your life. And I shall
wash away your sins, and you will
have clean sheets

again. And
your sheets will be shining white as
they dry in the sun on the bleaching fields
of heaven, the dewspangled
fields and sparrow hedges, hidden
in my mind.

I am with you always


where are you
who were here once with me
why did you leave
why have you left me to my raging
never an answer
comes   never a whisper

never a
sigh   never the touch of
a hand on my
shoulder    never a kiss          i never
abandoned you     i am here
in the shadows     i am

wet with your
tears     i sleep in your bed
beside you           see
my face at the window    looking in
at you    my eyes like black holes
beyond me the sunlight

of the sea where are you my darling
in my arms lie
enfolded      be the blue sea in my
eyes      be the sun on my skin
i am with you always


Come gray the days

fantasy_surrealism_landscape_photo_sculpture_photosculpture-p153590902431210096qdjh_4006Come gray the days

Come gráy the dáys and gó,
Long áll go dówn to sléep;
Love álways yét belów
Thís in my heárt I kéep.

Ónce agaín I’ll sée you
Tíme for the fírst agaín,
And sáme the wínd will blów
And ráke us sáme the raín.

Dark Angel

Dark Angel

I am the young and beautiful
none can resist. My mocking mouth
so kissable, my long black hair
a net of darkness from the south

lands of the heart…where passion burns
in men like you, sick with longing
for the heroin of my beauty.
Ache, ache! I can give you nothing

but more addiction. If you take
me, you take damnation too.
I am the angel of burning
frenzy, and the love I give you

is an unquenchable fire.
No cure for you in my caresses.
And never, never, never can
even the wildest of my kisses

give you new life, or bring you back
the leaping seed: the lust you had
in the summerlands long ago
before your eyes became so sad.