Hail to you,
serpent-fair and deadly Melizazni, guardian of the tomb, eater of light.
You who bring us
the eternal night, and give us the oars with which to row toward the
world-awaiting.
You with the
voice soft as grave dust, hard as stone
Grey as smoke,
blackened as bone.
The goddess who
pursues the soul of the tyrant, the peasant, the fool, as the white wolf
pursues the maiden through the red wood. Melizazni takes peacefully, the sick
child in the night, the crone in the shadow of the door, the wounded in the
battlefield.
Malizazni rides
on horses graceful as the swan, blacker than night, and carries her spear
tipped with silver. She appears at the dead man’s side and, with bold heart,
turns his face away from family, his unseeing eyes toward light. For all light
comes from darkness.
For she is
immortal among the mortals in both thought and deed.
Text by Lucie MacAulay
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