Weighing Of The Heart Poem by Eugenia Dubinova

Why do I see you in this strange moment,
And why do your eyes possess some wild, unpronounced pain?
Let me not penetrate your soul.
But as a witch, I will; I will do it anyway.

This mute white night, enfolded in this grotesque, omnipresent darkness.
Kneel upon all my faces and hearts in bronze,
And cherish my wings, for I have knitted them from your voice strings—
These same strings with which you pray to God.
Wasn't it, perhaps, last night?
Your swords are chipped; they also hide some rust.
Imagine killing a pure child's body with an object of such lost grace.
But for you, young knight, it's a timely question.

And then these arms, dirty,
For they had a handful of blood from all those they murdered,
Slide faces of virgin-like divinity, enfolded in white satins,
Exalted in their pristine, poised nature.
You soiled; you devoured their lips, their porcelain skin,
With some gluttony—oh, fear.
Don't I feel this unpleasant taste of soot, perhaps amalgamated with your sweat on my tongue now,
And this nasty dried blood you caught too?
Filthy.
I have just a god-like dog for you downstairs,
With the scales.
Bring your heart.