Poesias de Aleister Crowley

KALI
For I am utterly consumed
In thee, In thee am broken up.
The life upon my lips that bloomed
Is crushed into Deadly Cup,
Whose Devilish spirit squats and gloats
Upon the thirst that rots
Our throats.

Gape wide, o hideous mouth, and suck
This heart's Blood, drain it down,
Expunge
This sweltering life of Mire and Muck!
Squeeze out my passions as a sponge,
Till naught is left of terrene Wine
But somewhat deathless and divine!

Aleister Crowley

THE BALLOON
Toads are gnawing at my feet
Take them off me quick, I pray!
Worms my juice liver eat.
Take the awful beast away!
Vipers make my bowels their meat.
Fetch a cunnig knife and slay!

Kill the tadpoles in my lung,
And the woodlice in my spine,
And the beast that gnaws my tongue,
And the weasel at my chine,
And the horde of adders young
That around mine entrails twine!

Come, dissect me! Rip the skin!
Tear the bleeding flesh apart!
See ye all my hellish grin
While the straining vitals smart.
Never mind! Go in and win,
Till you reach my gory heart!

While my heart's soft pulse did go,
Devils had it in their bands.
Doctors keep it in a row,
Now, on varnished wooden stands:
And I really do not know
If it is in different hands.

Aleister Crowley

THE GARDEN OF JANUS
The cloud my bed is tinged
With blood and foam.
The vault yet blazes with the sun
Writhing above the west, brave hippodrome
Whose gladators shock and shun
As the blue nigth devours them
Crested comb
Of sleep's dead sea
That eats the shores of life, rings round eternity!

So, he is gone whose giant
Sword shed flame
Into my bowels; my blood's bewitched;
My brains afloatwith ecstasy of shame.
That tearing pain is gone, enriched
By his life-spasm; but he being gone, the same
Myself is gone,
Sucked by the dragon down below
Death's horizon.

I woke from this.
I lay upon the lawn;
They had thrown roses on the moss
With all their thorns,
We came there at the dawn,
My Lord and I, God sailed across
The sky in's galleon of amber, drawn
By singing winds.
While we wove garlands of the flowers
Of our minds.

All day my lover deigned to murder me,
linking his kisses in a chain
about my neck; demon-embroidery!
Bruises like far-off mountains stain
The valley of my body of ivory!
Then last came sleep.
I wake, and he is gone; what should I do but weep?
Nay, for I wept enough - more sacred tears!
When first he pinned me, gripped
My flesh, and as a stallion
That rears,
Sprang, hero-thewed
And satyr-lipped;
Crushed, as a grape between his teeth, my fears;
Sucked out my life
And stamped me with the shame,
The monstruos word of wife.
I will not weep; nay, I wil follow him.
Perchance he is not far,
Bathing his limbs in some delicious dim
Depth, where the evening star
May kiss his mouth, or by the black sky's rim
He makes his prayer
To the great serpent thet is coiled
In rapture there.
I rose to seek him.
First my footsteps faint
Pressed the starred moss; but soon
I wandered, like some sweet sequestered saint,
Into the wood, my mind. The moon.
Was staggered by the trees; with fierce constraint
Hardly one ray
Fierced to the rugged earth about their roots
That lay.

Aleister Crowley

<== Voltar