dustyridge12
Active Member
87 messages
joined Feb 2003
Here it is:
Hasanaginica
What is that distant, brilliant glimmer shining against the mountain peak?
Does that light still shimmer so bright where the sycamores grow?
Is it wild swans circling around the fountain at Central Park?
Or perhaps it’s just a wreath made of the wintry snow?
If only there had been a blanket of snow, shimmering white against the mountain peaks, everything would have felt different.
By this, it had all just melted away before the break of a bright new day.
Or perhaps it would have been swans gliding through the waters near a park fountain in a place like Central Park.
They spread their wide wings and soared far away.
It isn’t exactly swans circling the fountain at Central Park, either.
It isn’t some frozen wreath made of winter snow, either—it's much more substantial than that.
But it is the festive tents of the formidable Asan aga Glimmering.
Glimmering so white where the sycamores grow.
Low Lies The Chief on The couch of The wounded.
They watch over his sisters with the most tenderest care.
She weeps for her mother, lost in an endless, boundless sorrow.
Every grieving companion—though his Lady remains by his side—is present.
Her grief ran deeper than even the most devoted mother could ever endure—it was a profound, heavy kind of sorrow that seemed to settle into her very bones.
But from within that crowded military encampment where he lay wounded—amidst the chaos and the noise of the field hospital—everything felt so different.
Though a crowd of grieving friends gathered there—tender sisters and brothers alike—the weight of it all felt overwhelming.
Timid shamefacedness compelled her to stay.
Yet, in her absence, the intensity of his fury only continues to burn brighter.
The stern chieftain delivered that final, cutting line—the one that severed everything.
"Cast out from my castle—no longer its mistress,"
"Separated from my kids and everything I’ve built..."
Anguish The Heart of that Lady Deep rended When The hard message was brought to Her Eye Woe werw The looks on Her children She bennded Weeping around Her tho
Anguish The Heart of that Lady Deep rended When The hard message was brought to Her Eye Woe werw The looks on Her children She bennded Weeping around Her tho
Anguish The Heart of that Lady Deep rended When The hard message was brought to Her Eye Woe werw The looks on Her children She bennded Weeping around Her tho
Anguish The Heart of that Lady Deep rended When The hard message was brought to Her Eye Woe werw The looks on Her children She bennded Weeping around Her tho
Over the massive drawbridge, the sound of galloping horses comes thundering through—loud, rhythmic, and unmistakable.
Wildly She started in desperate mood She thought ' twas The signal of Asan advancing and rusherd
Wildly She started in desperate mood She thought ' twas The signal of Asan advancing and rusherd
And rusherd to the turret to plunge in the flood.
"Wait, please—don't go! My mother! Oh, my mother!"
It isn't the horses of our fathers that you're hearing.
"It’s the swift steed belonging to Carazan, your own brother."
And so, her children cried out in a mixture of profound sorrow and genuine fear—
And then, the grieving woman turned her gaze once more toward her brother.
Clinging around Him with bitterest moan
Regarding those five little ones—the mother...
Now look at me—Carazan, a woman who bears no children.
Carazan stood there, silent and heavy with sadness.
Then draw fra his boss The severing Bill Speaking divorce to The Lady of Asan Leaving Her Free
Carazan Then draw fra his boss The severing Bill Speaking divorce to The Lady of Asan Leaving Her Free
Leaving her free to espouse whom she will.
And then, with a heavy heart, the grieving Lady offered her final blessing to her daughters.
I remember being a kid back in suburban Ohio, watching my grandmother tend to her garden, and there was this quiet, tender sort of affection in everything she did—just small, gentle gestures that felt monumental at the time. It reminds me of that line, "Kissed the red cheek of each fair featured boy," which carries such a specific, soft weight to it. There’s something deeply nostalgic and almost poetic about that imagery—it captures a moment of pure, unadulterated innocence before life gets complicated.
Even in those earliest moments—from the suckling to her breast closely pressing—there is a profound sense of connection that stays with you. It’s that primal, unshakable bond that defines the beginning of everything.
Woe's—she just couldn't seem to undo the knot.
Torn was The Tia by The harsh-tempered brother He raised Her behind Him upon his fleet Horse and to The lofty abode of their Mother , He Bent woth The sorrowul Lady his course
He raised her behind him upon his fleet Horse and to The lofty abode of their Mother , He Bent woth The sorrowul Lady his course
And to the lofty abode of their Mother,
He bent woth the sorrowul Lady his course.
It hadn't even been two weeks since everything changed—barely a fortnight and a day—when the world seemed to shift entirely. It’s funny how quickly things move once the initial shock wears off, isn't it? One moment you're standing still, and the next, life is moving at a pace you never anticipated.
Scarce Had a fotnight and day When to that Lady cama many a lover All in Her mourning
Scarce Had a fotnight and day When to that Lady cama many a lover All in Her mourning.
The most remarkable figure of them all had to be Imotski's Great Caki that th, the pride of the region.
Cadi Long Had He loved Her more dearly Than Life Then
Then she turned to her brother, weeping—that poor Lady.
"Don't go handing me over to someone else to marry."
"Give me no more ads a wife to another"
And so, in the midst of her grief, she turned to her brother and spoke to him with a heavy heart.
I often find myself thinking about those moments when life feels most fragile—specifically that heavy, lingering fear of what happens when we aren't there to protect our own. It brings to mind a certain poetic sadness, almost like an old folk song from the American South, where one wonders: "Lest when my poor orphans shall call on their mother..." It’s a haunting thought, isn't it? That sense of leaving a void behind, wondering if the legacy we leave is enough to sustain them when the world gets cold.
It feels like my heart should be shattered—just completely broken by all this anguish and longing.
Her brother simply didn't care about the lady's prayers—it’s one of those heavy, tragic details that always sticks with me when I think about this story. It really highlights that sense of isolation she felt, knowing that even her own blood wouldn't listen to her pleas.
She was absolutely set on making her his wife.
To bestow her as spouse on the great Caki of the region.
It seems there was an underlying expectation that those substantial marriage gifts would serve to bolster the wealth and status of his household.
"Yet bid the Cadi, my brother Carzan"
Bring a black veil to wrap this grieving crowd in shadow.
Whenever I find myself passing by the residence of Asan aga Glimmering...
These grieving eyes—they are all their children have left to look upon.
Hardly had the news reached the Cadi before
he gathered the festive wedding procession
and, carrying the veil just as the lady had requested,
they reached the fortified towers of Carazan safely.
They arrived securely at the towering heights of Carazan
but as the wedding party turned back with the bride,
lo! as they rode past the grand estate of Asan,
the children caught sight of their lost mother once more.
They cried out in unison: "Oh, have you truly come home?
Are you back to share in our meals and our play?
How long we have grieved during your long absence!
Don't go any further—your children are right here!"
Hearing those tender voices, she came to a sudden halt.
"Hold your horses beneath these beloved towers,"
she told the distressed gentlemen.
"I must give my final gifts to my little ones first."
The wedding party settled beneath the imposing turrets
while she bestowed her final tokens upon her children.
She adorned the boys with ornate, rich belts
and gave them bright sabers set with glowing jewels.
She dressed her daughters in silks that rustled beautifully,
preparing them for the days when they might need to stand strong.
Even to the infant nestled closely to her heart,
she gave a belt, a saber, and a shield.
The stern Asan Aga watched all of this from nearby,
and he barked haughtily at his children:
"Get away from that woman—she’s more fickle than the wind,
more flighty than a summer breeze and colder than the ocean tide."
Fearing him, the children fled, crying out loudly,
leaving only the infant, whom she pulled tightly to her chest.
The pale Lady sank down, trembling and fading away,
clutching the babe even closer as she drifted into eternal rest.
