If you can say, what will happen after an hour-

you're a gifted person, if you can say what will

happen after a month- you're a talented person,

if you can say what will happen after many years,

you're a genius.

To the fiery-starry firebird, living in every person's

soul, heart; who is in unison with soaring of Richard

Davis Bach's, ''Jonathan Livingston Seagull'', as well with the perfect alchemistry of Leonardo Da Vincies

enlightened bird, and as well with creation of the world.

The song ''Gloomy Sunday'' inspired  MY WRITE ''The Child King'' in memory of my son ''Michael Shane''

My bird Jalalbad  Am I Blue http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=J9wkgFSTwZs

Gloomy Sunday  http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oR07QOTfeqk

 Falling in Love Again   http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7cXpQvL2BOg 

Jalalbad  Peace be Still http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qD5LSgvXckE

Where Does Love Go http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=N8iieWXmY0Q      

 

I would like to present to you, an epic poem with a morale.

Titus has the unenviable task of putting my words into story form.

With that I thank you dearly.  

Poem about John Smith, English colonist in America 

1580–1631, b. Willoughby, Lincolnshire, England.

Arabic Version  http://allpoetry.com/poem/show/3689184

Italian Version http://allpoetry.com/poem/3689122   (operatic)

From the words of John Smith, it is hoped a hero is brought from the

suggestions I have found and for Titus to put words to, my son would

evolve as the hero in my eyes. Made apparent by the determination of 

those who wanted to make it better for others from which will be made 

 apparent in this composition. 

                   The Rubaiyat of Jalalbad, (English Version)

    

  

                     

                          By Jalalbad

   

 

 Adaptation & Translations (Arabic / Italian)
   By Titus Llewellyn

          From which the verses below be translated. 

           

The Child King From Song of the Firebird

My humanistic mind
Could not comprehend nor hear it
The mystery of his kind
The secret of his spirit
But was to write in morbid verse
In hopes of being healed
Of the never ending thirst
For the things that he concealed
Until at last my pen was cursed
With the knowledge he revealed.

Deep within my dusty den
Hidden in the lonesome pine
I listened to the howling wind
It's icy fingers tapped my spine
And the restless howling wind
Blew into my mind
Was restless but to howl again
Then wrap around me like a vine
The doors I'd dare not enter in
The stairs I'd vowed to never climb
Became obsession to me then
I bound up them 3 at a time.

Drifting through a mortal sleep
Like a star in the night
Eyes ablaze with the heat
Of God's holy light
Descending to the deepest deep
To soar above the highest height
I wandered straying like a sheep
And lonely as a kite
Across many sandy dunes
Across a path paved in gravel
Into legionary tombs
In mystery too deep to unravel.
Hidden in the dusty rooms-
A sleeping child who yearned to travel.

I saw him in the spirit realm
This forgotten child of yesterday
Like some cheap and tarnished gem
In the casket where he laid
His essence but a mummy stem
Trapped beneath the mud and clay
Yet I loved and cherished him
In spite the process of decay.  

The Child King #2

His dry bones shuddered in alarm
At this specter by his bed
Whose neon eyes and icy charm
Betrayed her at the living dead
And the baby on her arm
Filled him with uncertain dread
Yet he knew she would not harm
A single hair upon his head
He watched her like a spirit dreaming
In another realm or time
And her eyes were soft and clinging
Around his essence like a vine
Or a foreign sun whose beaming
Is an omen or a sign.

Reaching out I took his hand
Held it firmly in my own
And forced his soul to understand
That death was but a stepping stone
And I held his fleshless hand
Held it firmly in my own
As I went on to command
Life restored unto his bones.

His screams roaring like a tide
Between the heavens and the earth
And the baby at my side
Was none other than his birth
Torn from my bloody womb
Cut off from the mother vine
And hurled into a waiting tomb
Before the destinated time.

I know he's gone yet somehow
He lingers like a summer rain
I hear him in the winds that howl
And rattle at my window pane
I feel a chill cross my brow
Before I hear him call my name
And crossing through the night I prowl
In the form of fog and flame
Swooping down in wispy smoke
This childish spirit to embrace
I find him huddled in a cloak
A wistful smile upon his face
A gentle ghost out to evoke
The love of God's amazing grace.

With hands beneath hooded pockets
He stands silent and alone
Staring through empty sockets
With spirit eyes cold as stone
Then in a shower of rainbow rockets
He bursts into bits of bone
To become sweet memories framed in lockets
For the Masters view alone.

The Child King #3

              

 

Like some cheap psychotic demon
I return to my den
There to lie forever dreaming
And listening to the whispering wind
There to lie in silent screaming
For him to come to me again
In blood stained verses streaming
Down my face and chin.
And in my dreams so it seems
I hear him call my name
Like a balm his voice redeems
Me from a world of hellish pain
As a light he softly beams
Through my lonely dark domain
Into my hell through spirit means
On soles of kitten feet he came
Through the dark and mirrored glass
That reflect the living dead
Below the withered winter grass
Overgrown above my head
Through the dusty crypt to pass
Breaking through the spider's thread
And with a single blow to crash
The vault around my satin bed.
From a cloud of smoky mist
This childish spirit takes my hand
And grasp it in his bony fist
With the strength of a man
And flying through the crypt in bliss
That I don't profess to understand
We greet the sun with a kiss
As only firebirds can...