1. VERSOS PARA O SUBMUNDO

O que é esta escuridão que me rodeia
E embala numa corrente de ilusória paz?
Cantem os poetas uma última epopeia,
Com um verso nobre, corajoso, audaz.

Adormecerei neste sepulcro aquático.
Aos meus, reservo a dor da ausência;
E viverei no rumorejar enfático
Daqueles que celebrarem a minha vivência.

What is this darkness that surrounds me
And cradles me in a stream of illusory peace?
May the poets sing one last epopee
With a noble, courageous, and bold verse.

I will fall asleep in this watery sepulcher.
To my fellows, I reserve the pain of absence,
And I will live in the emphatic whisper
Of those who celebrate my existence


2. JEKK ALLA JRID

[Sailor]
I travel to the east
With one eye set in discovery.
Ragged, forlorn, but bathed in creativity,
My verses are versed in misery.

Frail, I need to conquer my terror:
Crossing the waters I am averse;
Hoping my anxiety doesn’t get worse
At the hands of Loneliness, the Perverse.

The winds took us to the cape
Where hope is enslaved;
Where thousands of names are engraved
In the waters where life is waived.

Then a tempest took my body
Down into a bottomless pit.
I was scared, sobbing not to submit
At the hands of Woe, the Misfit.

Alas, my sight dims.
My breathing, now so frail.
Unsteady hands terrified to hail
All the gods that cursed me to fail.

May the poet’s king of lusitania
Spread our story in verse and rhyme.
Here I have fallen in my prime
To journey deep into helheim.

[The wraith]
Weep not, grieving child,
And close your eyes.
I’ll sever all of your ties,
One by one as your body dies.

Sing me this:
A verse that can make me remember
All the pieces I had to dismember
From my ancient body of frost and ember.

[Sailor]
Chagrin, mortality’s curse.
All beauty, ashes in a hearse.
Bliss, parched earth ever obverse
To the dark plains all must traverse.

But save me from this fortune.
Walk with me in lakes of tears,
Of a thousand fathers crumbling on their fears
A desolate melody of the spheres.

Alas, deus vult
I’ll follow you to the abyss.
My body, flesh for the waters to kiss
Now that I hear death’s final hiss


3. AT THE CAPE OF GOOD HOPE? THE WRAITH

Enraged, I command this sea.
For eons I’ve carried their prayers,
Crushing them beneath me.
I, the guide of mariners.

Enshrined by eerie bones and skin,
I judge not your accursed faith.
Thousands of ghosts, I carry within.
I, the fallen, azrael, the wraith.

When the curtain of life
Falls suddenly over your astounded eyes,
My majesty releases you from strife.
I, widowmaker, the lord of lies.

At the cape of Good hope,
Debris, pain, agony drew me.
Life collapsing, hands reaching for a rope...
I, the deathly escort, your destiny.

Amidst the wrecked ships,
A sailor still clings to hope.
Refusing to kiss death’s lips,
A vain attempt to elope.

“Save your prayers,” I say.
“For death has chosen you today.
Embrace the world as it fades to grey.
This is a future you can’t betray.”

And I swallow the dead.
A phantom whale for the disenchanted.
I imprison and shred
The life you took for granted.

“Save your prayers,” I say.
“For I have chosen you today.
Boy, man, old, weak and strong,
Gravestones on my endless song.

My labour is endless,
Guiding the fallen on my undertow.
All have been like you, restless,
Before the final throe


4. IN THE WAKE OF FORGETFULNESS

I’ve given enough time to lethargy.
Twenty years ago I set sail to the sea
Looking for a beast to make a plea
That unholy master of thanatology.

In the wake of forgetfulness
I search for the fallen one.

But in truth I tell you,
I forgot what to pursue.
The world became askew,
All the same in mist and dew.
My restless soul still looks out
Under the blackened sky,
Fighting apathy, desolation, and doubt.

I was looking for a friend
Who met an untimely end.
“It’s my mission,” I thought, “to descend
Into the waters and the monster apprehend.”

In the wake of forgetfulness
I want to bring back the fallen one.

Stories told that a sea beast
Took the dead as a feast;
And they wandered there for eternity,
Inside its belly, in captivity.

Sometimes I thought I’d lose my mind;
Some days ravenous, hopeless, and blind,
Trapped in the swirl of finding my friend,
To find him before year’s end.
All the anger of not knowing why,
A thunderous storm in a silent shout
For not saying a final goodbye.

’Till the day came when I saw it,
And my heart sank into a bottomless pit.
Souls of the dead were its bones, eerily lit.
And before the beast, I lost my valour and wit


5. PUNISHED

It used to be my pain,
(But I) lost power over it.
(And) bodies (still) pile up forever
Over feelings of faith...

A nightmare lies
Between me
And the dogma
I ran from.

It is haunting
(To) punish the flesh. I do.
Be vigilant all times:
Awake and serene;
Awake and sublime.
A light to a world now gone.

Emptiness.
(The) resonant
Omen of
(The) temptress
Of vice.
Emptiness.
A psalm
That Denies the truth.

It’s
The fall
Of our minds.

Sanctimonious.
Redemption for
Their ancient lies
Upon the altar.

Unscrupulous.
A treacherous
Clash of the minds
Denying truth.

Alight!

Bloodhound, the victim I
Found alone and bound to
The punishment of sin.
Wounding in red, regret in black.

Before indifference sets in,
Before tiredness within sets in,
Trinity, trinity here,
Alight!
Alight!

Bloodhound, blood-bound, which I
Found alone and uncrowned
(With) trinity’s violin
That calls us in—anguish within


6. SPIRITS OF THE DEAD

Thy soul shall find itself alone
’Mid dark thoughts of the gray tombstone
Not one, of all the crowd, to pry
Into thine hour of secrecy.

Be silent in that solitude,
Which is not loneliness—for then
The spirits of the dead who stood
In life before thee are again
In death around thee—and their will
Shall overshadow thee: be still.

The night, tho’ clear, shall frown
And the stars shall look not down
From their high thrones in the heaven,
With light like Hope to mortals given
But their red orbs, without beam,
To thy weariness shall seem
As a burning and a fever
Which would cling to thee for ever.

Now are thoughts thou shalt not banish,
Now are visions ne’er to vanish;
From thy spirit shall they pass
No more—like dew-drop from the grass.

The breeze—the breath of god—is still
And the mist upon the hill,
Shadowy—shadowy—yet unbroken,
Is a symbol and a token—
How it hangs upon the trees,
A mystery of mysteries!


7. THE BRINGER OF DAWN

Wait! cast your doubts aside
For you have stumbled for too long.
It is time for a new day, my people,
An empire for the wolves and strong.

Cast you doubts aside
Under the shadow of dying Ymir.
It is time for a new story, my tribe,
To be written on the scrolls of thoth, the scribe.

It matters not death and misfortune
If we shielded ourselves against doubt.
Sing higher the song of Lusitania
In our land grieved by drought.

Lucifer rising, a comet blazing the sky
Cometh forth to light the old empire.
And in my right hand, a flaming sword to defy
The bull and devourer—europa’s defiler.

Set your eyes at sunrise,
Beyond the tagus flowing in our hearts.
Free from dismay and demise,
A new renaissance of men and arts.

I bring gods enslaved.
Divine artefacts to prophesy.
At your hands, my sombre people,
An empire that none can deny.

It matters not howls of holiness
If we slain the legion of the dead:
Those who blindly follow and chant
Their righteousness while leaving a path of dread.

While they sleep, we slay
While they falter, we burn
While they coward, we purvey
The fear promised by my return


8. EULOGY FOR THE WEARY

There’s no longer a road for you to tread under the gloomy Storm of mortality
That roars and consumes all flesh and memory.
I am but a child before your eyes, now eternal;
And your memory, a seed that will blossom from my blood, my Flesh, my voice,
From all of my actions until I’m devoured by mother—death, In the solitary cradle of existence.

Já não tens mais estrada que percorrer sob a tempestade Tétrica da mortalidade
Que ruge e consome toda a carne e memória.
Sou apenas uma criança perante os teus olhos, agora eternos;
E a tua memória uma semente que brotará do meu sangue, da Minha carne, da minha voz,
De todas as acções até eu próprio ser consumido pela mãe-Morte, no berço solitário da existência