Stanislav Kostarnov
Ip-Po
They came from the sea, like mist, Like birds... From shear waves of malachite like ancient oysters clinging onto the rock, they grew within themselves northern Knowledge like a pearl, the radiant jewel of intermingled myth, philosophy and poem, there ballads a flame to be, like candlelight in lands that know only cold.
The winter and the sea were their gods, the furnace that refined and hardened them in its flames, from voice of seagulls they took a new voice, from snowflakes a canvas upon which self proclaim...
Toi-hl Ikp-i koo
Ikp-toi ik koo
Resting, a tired eagle from its flight of centuries gone by, the towers of Ik-toi-Ik in snow covered sleep,
calling with voices of the night...
Who calls, the fishermen out to seas far gone,
the smell of cinnamon on stinging morning air, cacao, blizzard near, like a dragon born, of the skies glass-like, flawless & clear
Indigo.
The stars will whisper...
Dik-pi oi
Snows, in flurries, like small groups of frightened birds, like playing schoolchildren on streets of mist-filled sky, Circling, taking off in dance off the old roofs, across, that light which had but minutes ago been the night, they too come out to greet morning...
The silent Dik-pi oi, an urban center in the sprawl of life that is I-po, you, grave, and in your gravity majestic, rise, amongst the gaiety of dance, not so much in contradiction as by contrast to complement it.
It... that creature, nature... terrible and free, that howls outside your door, your stillness gives it life, around it, a shadow of yourself it flows... shapeless and round, long, as no length can be;
Dik-pi oi, the long shadow of dawn, you stay, pinned to this earth by distant towers, yet ready to dissolve in rolling mist
You, ageless constant, living outside life, who will you be today? another working day, people stream towards you, the city.., -- has awoke
Chu-ip & Mue
IK Pto-i
Ip Chu-e
Rising, upon the crag
like upon winters edge... a sharp
ice-hawk, a guardian to the edge of its coldworld,
where melt, with a brilliance of color great, icicles of blue ice
Here wait, looking into each others gray eyes, two majestic queens, winter and spring
I-po city
Ip-dk-to
Yes… The City of Ip-Po is alive. Under the cold its sun., it is formed, that, within, the wind breathing cold snow, as light, that in it’s every breathe, in a thousandth crystal its own rebirths; A waking... watchfulness in existance's dream, that in its every cell proves it has will to live... till the very of fabric life to become… a vivacity of stillness beyond compare... it flows down,
a timeless white rapid, of stars and blue ice, a void of a million small streams... visible, even under the brightest of I-po's suns
