Darkestrah - The Great Silk Road (2008)

The pain burns in my consciousness
By a fresh disturbed wound:
Why is your shape, Khan Tengri,
Bewitched by a gloomy fog?
Seeing your silhouette torn apart.

My heart is beating all the more strongly,
As if at a pillory, wild villains beat the slave...
Tell me, ancient and mighty:
How do you avoid burdensome light,

Blackened by a wave of heavy clouds,
How do you pass through thousand centuries?
Why does your bottom poplar turn yellow before the autumn rain?
Why is it so sad?

Open the secrets, two-humped top,
Deep and long truthfulness!
Free wind brings to you powerful screams
From the beautiful valleys.
Clouds are breaking off above you,
It's spalshing a surf of new life...

Why is your shape, Khan Tengri,
Bewitched by a gloomy fog?
Seeing your silhouette torn apart.

Ashes will scatter on earth as a necklace, beginning of night.
Scars stare at us from the sky.
The mirror of lake water will give us the way,
The sublimity of cities will unveil to our eyes.
Sad mirage reflects the pain,
The southern wind quietly dies in silence.

The ancient mountains will freeze a heart of the earth.
Draw eyes on your palms,
Let your hair fall down onto shoulders,
Let the wind to dry them up.
Recollect a song forgotten by me, let trees remind you...
Throw some salt into a fire

Clear the ground of gods.
Fall on the sand, embrace the cold stones,
Ask only which you'll need for the way.
Their sould awaken by your breath,
So let their advices through your ears.
Listen to the ground,
A footfall of horses are audible here,
Look at the sky, the star - your satellite, flashes up.
Pray to fire, there is a life flow in his flame...

In the morning, we will make a way,
In the middle of deserted waters,
Under the gold of the burning sun,
There damp, dusty and sour rain,
The small of thunder-storms, and bile of freedom,
There calls an inner voice
The rich merchant will come to us ad give us a thousand coins.

That was where fire's spirit was playing the flute this warm evening.
That world where Shaitan plays, to the accompaniment of the bugle drums bit.
Blood, honey and milk - nectar of shaman's immortality.
Here the archers throw their whistling.

There are five deep wrinkles on the face of Kara Oy.
The land of Kara Oy has a great sorrow.
Five thousand years to be alone.
Five thousand years on the land of Kara Oy.
Stars and the moon in the dark waters.
Like how fishes splash with their fins.
But maybe she cried,
Having smashed a chest with seven padlocks.

And may be this is a ringing of drops.
Because of straining spring's drops.
And may be it's a throne of consciousness,
Which put an end to all the ways befor,
With silent murmurs of crystals.

Kara Oy ran across the black fields,
A river-bed is dried up on the land of Kara Oy.
The wind blows frome the East to the West.
The birds fly to the East of Kara Oy.

It will wake a dog sleeping on feet.
The moon will rise like a poppy,
Instead of the light versal palace's imprisonment.
Then gods came down to me from the heavens
They'll look into my mind and fill me by eternal energy.
Surrounded by this magic light, sweat covers my skin.
Emptiness under my feet is calling me down.
Air tolls in my ears.
The night will swallow the day.
That dream today, I have waited for him... for a long long time:
Forever I'll stay in the Kara Oy.

I pass valleys, a way among different civilizations
Amon different cultures, valleys, mountains under the heat of the red sun

If only you wish, I would be a chasm
If only you wish, I would be a river
I'll hear this call under sand's thorns
But I'll overcome my hard way.

I know and I believe in words of the old shaman
He told me about a forgotten way
Not being afraid of snakes and wolves and to worship fire
The nature to enjoy and trusting myself

The desert smells like the sea, open space and freshness.
You see nothing. Endlessness. A scratch of space.
Here is another silence. Like a lake, northern silence - rings, and that is she.
Here the silence is empty. It is no longer there.
Nothing exists... nothing.
Columns of dust fly upon the desert as spirits and genies,
protecting their possessions.
Sands like herds of huge horses, rising under the clouds.

Desert is not yellow - dried up, as it seemed before.
It's grey-brown-yellow-green, seems more steppe than a desert.
The ground is entirely covered with a dusty-green low grass,
Branches of saxaul, sickly yellow flowers.

Here and there the white animal's bones is growing and picked by winds.
Gray-brown, low hills and dark grey, almost black silhouettes of the Altay mountains.
White stains of the nomad's urtahs.
The shepherd incredibly chooses the right grey roads, thread from a huge ball.
Hidden in the desert, Desert is inside me...