Flame of the Night

 Mother is my earth whence I grow and branch up to the skies like a tree,
my hair merging into radicles drinking from a wavy depth;
fate is reflected in the sheen of pebbles on the palm,
in echoes of my soul whisper I live:

Always seek light in the darkness, ignite it to illuminate her, via a tiny flame ward off the night,
for it is your beating heart, the warming ardour of undying love, the pivot of life and man;
nurture your peace amid a storm whooshing by,
for only so you can step onto a boulder in a flowing river without getting swept by a raging torrent
and discover the inner sage to guide you through life.

Aureate lava erupts from her eyes by a glittery luna of the night,
in a tangle of ringlets it sneaks into the shadows,
traces in the book of life has ignited
and her flare of energy emits from within.

Star dust descends from above in the rustle of leaves,
the solar disc gleams through arboreal crowns
where the moss feels soft as my body sleeps
and my soul dreams expanding up to the clouds.

Flame of the night @ Ladanseuse
English translation of Plamínek noci
Collected from snippets of my own thoughts and fantastic visions, published on 21. 1. 2026

The Radix

 A question is raised of what the essence is whence 
threads lead further to weave the web of my existence.
I'm a deep, a vast dancing in the waves –
where are the shores of hers?

A flicker turned into flames...

Out of wonder at what the merits are
of going back so far in time,
amid the craze of 'the here-and-now' 'n' 'the discard-of-the-redundant',
a truth has sprung up:
The roots are there – here is but 
a tangle of branches...
whence does this all-embracing feeling arise?

Thus, in order to comprehend the here, one must 
go there–to the source, the radicles, the inception–
'n' seek out the links, connectivity,
songs of one's inner child,
uncovering a primal wellspring of the undercurrent of one's life.

Days of yore yearn for a remedy and inclusion
lest they linger on as an infliction,
for all our life is contained within 'em,
and yet they go, "Forget it!"
Where's the wisdom carried within then? – Discarded!

That's, we need a firm footing so as to stand up and take wing.

Made up is the division of time, all's intertwined:

It's an endlessly flowing river, wavelet by wavelet, the esse of our being,

and still they maintain that the one 'n' only ripple is It,

but each 'n' every one of 'em composes the stream 

as they all in myriads interflow diffusing rappidly...

The Radix © Ladanseuse 

An originally unnamed Czech-English prose turned poesy of 24. 1. 2025, 

 in Czech "Kořen" published on 15. 10. 25,

this English rendition published on 14. 10. 2025

A Merge with Eternity

If you can
discern
whence stems a dread
of dark shadowiness 
amidst a sunlit day,
then you comprehend
why in the heart
ceaseless unease can dwell.

If you can
penetrate
the essence of life
before you deplete it completely,
then you learn
of whence we came,
the source of our fragility.

If you believe
in the existence of reliables,
then tell me
what it is supposed to be
when each moment passes.

If you say,
only that which prevails, matters –
is it in seach of a safe guarantee
that is trustworthy?
Or, your attachment to it
renders you wishful it would last for eternity?

Where find certainty?
All is at risk –
each step taken on your path
can be fatal,
but not to go on
means to reject life,
which life won't accept.

And so you know
there is no way of relinquishment
and keep this senseless battle on,
hurting as you sense it's in vain.

Certain instants
belong to silence
in the time
when retreat means your victory,
open your heart,
there exist moments 
wedded to eternity.

A Merge with Eternity © Ladanseuse
Original text undated; edited, translated into Czech, and published bilingually on 5. 4. 2022

A Little Tenderness

I went:
Close your eyes,
outstretch your arm,
open your palm.

And then:
If this was the only thing
I would ever tell you;
if this was the only thing
I would ever give you;–
it would be this...

Thereupon, 

onto your palm

with my finger

did I draw

a

h e a r t.

💓

A Little Tenderness © Ladanseuse

English translation "Něžnůstka" 

Original written based on an older concept on 30. 3. 2022

The Wind and the Flower

 She heard the wind as he whispered into her blossoms;
the flower – inquired – what do you want?
He caressed her – nothing, I just like you.

But the wind intensified;
the flower – still, she would thrust herself into his arms.
He blew – I just want to be with you.

The first droplets advised her
of an imminent storm;
the flower – her petals were falling off.
He squalled – get lost!

Then the wind subsided;
the flower – in vain did she seek the sun.
He had fallen silent.

And last, the wind blew away;
and the flower?

The Wind and the Flower © Ladanseuse
Transl. "Vítr a květina", written in 2000, edited in 2021

A Fanciful-wakeful Lass

 A fanciful-wakeful lass
with a magic star on her palm,
she's climbing up to the sky,
drowning in the rising sun
to fall down, beat the dust
and kiss the day good-bye.

She's drawing a picture of beau monde,
keeping her mind so madly strong;
she's down on her knees,
dropping her heart, so weak;
her sorrow makes her blind to see
through salty tears
that rob her eyes of joy
in the world full of jeers.

Vain are hopes, empty's damnation,-
love is her icon,
so wanted, so untold,
belonging to Heaven,
having fallen to a fragile soul,
to a tiny nook in the huge space,
as a weak ray of light in the dark,
always finding its place.

And the lass, strange to reality, is awake,
awake to her dreams.

A Fanciful-wakeful Lass © Ladanseuse
Written under the title "A Stranger to Reality" in 1999, edited in 2021

Heartbeat in the Mist

Heartbeat in the mist;
shadows are dispersing,
light is floating,
tears are murmuring.
A bitter moon of the eyes;
traces are vanishing,
silence has resounded all around.

Heartbeat in the mist,
moist palms of hands;
the soul is melting away.
Inaudible tidings
the mind is slumbering,
dreams have drowned in the night.

Heartbeat in the mist;
a muffled scream
has torn the heart into pieces.
Life in fallen leaves;
angels are listening;
writings on walls 
say, I love you.

Dreams are floating about;
another darkened street;
legs have grown heavy;
breath.

Like bell it sounds,
the heartbeat in the mist;
loudly it is crying out,
and yet softly it is treading.

Heartbeat in the Mist © Ladanseuse
Transl. "Tlukot srdce v mlze", written in 1999, edited in 2021

In Soul's Tongue

 I don't mind its being put imperfectly –

I want to play with it,– enlivening, realizing, liberating it...

This is to share moments of a symmetry or harmony

that springs from the depths of the soul to reveal itself,

creating a bond with the outside world

through streams of unconsciousness

that is now palpably real.

In Soul's Tongue © Ladanseuse

Nostalgy

If something ends,

it has no continuation:

It gets frozen in time

and can be recalled ad infinitum,

but it has no life other than imaginal,

neither can it be found in the reality of now.

Nostalgy

is absolutely bittersweet,

as it tries to revive 

the past,

which would be 

a window

open into the future.

Nostalgy © Ladanseuse

Written ultimately on 16. 5. 2021

The Lunar Traveler

Human is like the moon,

going through life,

each phase of which is a passage;

visions of the landscape change,

but the pilgrim,

albeit not unaffected,

at the core stays the same.

The Lunar Traveler © Ladanseuse

Written ultimately on 16. 5. 2021 

The Ghostlike World in Cobwebs of Life

 So arise,

darkness shan't swallow you –

if darkness is a far cry from you;

and light shan't blind you, neither shall the sun scorch you –

if you are the glowing shine of the sun.

In the ghostlike world

your dreams are being woven in cobwebs of life –

no, these are no air castles,

this is a faceless stone;

those burning sands know no feeling,

even if washed away by rain,

even if blown away by the wind

– but you, you are a life!

And if you are a life, why are you silent?

In the blind world of fumbling hands –

a gem in the dunes,

a temple hidden in the depths

– with no trace of existence

drowning in its sleep;

you have been engraved by eternity, prophet –

and yet you are not,

you do not exist,

you are but a dream, 

a dream of mornings, a dream of nights...

Who are you? Where are you?

When you are, and yet you are not...

The Ghostlike World in Cobwebs of Life © Ladanseuse

Transl. Přízračný svět v pavučinách života

The Power of Unshackledness

 For long do I seek my path...

the solid ground...

the moment when I am welcomed by the known,

when I am smiled at by a sunlit dawn.

What sense does the short-live make,

that which slips down the surface —

like a thought having flown through the mind at the speed of light,

like a momentary joy or pain, felt with no deeper imprints?

ONLY

higher objectives in the depth of infinity,

ONLY

that which fulfills and exceeds me...

The only power lies in unshackledness —

as it alone can open doors to any challange of the world!

And so...

I went 

and danced 

into the groove of sunlight.

The Power of Unshackledness © Ladanseuse

Transl. Síla nespoutanosti 

The River of Fire

The choice lies in my hands

and the universe observes

as it streches before me

in the ocean of liberty.

 The blessed rain

washes my fear away

as I open my arms to uncertainty

in the riches of earthly possibilities.

On my way to the light

even playful little flames can burn me

if I extend my hand too far.

At a place where

my path intersects with another one

I must stop

to perceive its line and outreach.

My step toward the light

may be

a fall into the dark

for my counterpart.

Stiff and speechless, I perish

with a smiley contentment of those

whose gaze is freezing-cold.

My path of growth is wounding,

and yet it is the principle of life;

an urge that cannot be ignored,

just as I cannot stop respiring.

I am a harbinger of

fire originating from water

which then changes into dust

and out of dust a new life springs...

The River of Fire © Ladanseuse

Transl. "Řeka ohně"

The Voice of Silence

Silence is a breeding ground for my thoughts
that have turned into words;
I am painting upon the wall of silence as if 'twas a canvas;
my steps have covered an empty dancing hall.

The silence of inner peace sounds like a babbling brook, rustling leaves, a foaming flow;
the silence of war rages within like a silenced scream.

Not always is it words that speak:
here waves a dance, throbs a drum, beats a heart;
here appear footprints on a wavy sand or a palm imprint on steamy glass;
there ignited an inner fire through the connection of our eyes...

Listen to the whole world speaking without uttering a sound!

If you desire different answers, you have to pose different questions.

The Voice of Silence © Ladanseuse
Transl. "Hlas ticha"

Angels of Light And Dark

They are the same, even if the opposites,
connected in their duality,
like two sides of the same coin,
the two extremes of the identical energy,
the sun and the moon,
a day and a night,
a dove and a raven,
love and hate,
the loveliest and the cruelest –
what is on one side
is equally reflected on the other side:
How else could an angel ever have fallen from grace?

Angels of Light And Dark © Ladanseuse

My Heart

 The heart that is beating in my material body
is not the heart
that you should desire.
Foolish thing, child, my glittering joy!
I know you, world, even though you are unknown.

My Heart ©Ladanseuse

I Am.

I am a child of the screaming world that has silenced me, deprived me of arguments
‒ and yet my heart has not unlearned to speak.

I am a rebel of silence,
which carries more eloquence.

I am a pilgrim on tangled roads
where the dim-witted get lost.

I am a prophet of fire.
My life is a dance of dervish, even if it burns like a straw.

Love is a like a thought floating into infinity
and there is so little time in my life.

Come in, my treasure is within.

I am. © Ladanseuse