The song of the void - i-iii

I

There was a land, a faraway land,
And that’s where we start our story.
The land was rich, and happy it was,
It bathed in the Sun and its glory.
There was no ruler, he wasn’t needed:
All the inhabitants were equal in life.
Nobody told them how they should live it,
And no sign - for years! - of struggle or strife.
And there was a village, a small one it was,
Where twelve years ago a baby was born.
Very handsome a boy, with light curly hair –
That’s he at the moment, playing a horn.
He knew no doubts, trouble went past him,
He was a shepherd on his father’s crop.
Playing his horn, he amused all day long
Himself and the villagers at the hilltop.
And there would be nothing of story at all,
If one day he didn’t go down the hill
After lost sheep, on the opposite side,
Where he wasn’t before, not even willed.

II

He ran down the hill, calling his sheep
And playing the horn so that it could hear him,
When all of a sudden he heard someone weep –
As if underground, and just as if near him.
He stopped in his tracks, surprised with the sound,
And started to search from where it could go;
But then something cracked, he fell on the ground,
And roots dragged him down, him crying “Oh, no!”
He woke in the cavern, surrounded with dark,
Not seeing a thing, but hearing some voice;
It whispered to him: “Come here, little lark,
Let darkness be yours, be your guidance of choice!”
The boy was afraid, the gloomy voice scared him,
He sat on the ground not moving an inch,
His horn lay beside him, he warily played it,
Not letting a sound – threw away in a ditch.
“Come here, little lark! Come here, don’t be scared;
Get used to the dark – there’s nothing to fear;
Forget all your worries, succumb to nightmare,
And I will reward you – right now and right here!”
The innocent boy knew nothing of vanity,
But curious he was, as any young man.
That’s why he got up, meaning insanity:
He followed the voice to the depth of the den.

III

Deeper he went, not seeing a thing,
Directed by voice from the void;
Deeper he went, only to bring
Himself what he could have avoided.
Keeping on going, he suddenly felt
The air-flow come from the deep;
Keeping on going, he stepped on the pelt –
The carpet that made him creep.
He made a few paces, and stopped in a daze,
For something he saw in the shades;
He made a few paces, and looked through the haze
To see the black ghost with a blade.
He drew back a step, astonished and scared,
His heart beating faster than ever;
He drew back a step, still giving a glare
To the horrible vision of Nether.
But then the haze cleared, revealing the truth;
Curiosity came after fear;
The haze had been cleared, uncovering sooth:
Ghost transformed into monument merely.
He inspected it once, carefully though,
And gathered again all his poise;
He inspected it twice, and it struck him a blow
That didn’t he hear the voice.