Yazyk

Tongue arched like a bridge,
From throat to throat, from bag to bag.
Did the God walk the bridge?
Or the grim jester with bluish face
Walked from world to world,
But didn't come to the world in the world
By the bridge of hands.
The star withdraws it's warmth
To some other East,
Knights smite the sleep of death
In ravines with the blades of bodies,
Strong is the laughter of heavens,
And frightening is the motherland's pale moan.