The Golden Spires of El-Fahir

When the world was young, the Sister Kings of El-Fahir decreed the construction of seven golden spires: seven sister, seven spires. The Jealous Man heard their command, and in his pale pride decided to build for himself an eight spire at the very center of the city El-Fahir. As he stroked his long mustaches, brushed his thight beard, sent his slaves to the Gold mines, he sang in a whisper:

This spire, my desire
Will shine so tall and true

This spire, built higher
Will shame the sisters seven

This spire, my fire
Will grant my crown at last

Now it is but distant memory, and there is not one, nor seven, nor eight towers, but none. El-Fahir, fair kingdom, oasis among endless sands, has also joined with its unrelenting environs, those cruel, slow waves of hot dust. Was it you, Jealous Man, who doomed fair ‘Fahir? Or was it, as the Gambler and the Angels murmur and whisper and sing through tales, the spring-born Sister Kings who quarreled and warred from towers seven? Only the Snake knows the truth, but all his words are slithering lies.

Ah, who am I to say, who I am to judge? Those towers, that far and frightening City and its cruel, cruel prisons. It is Jealousy, only Jealousy …

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Georg, traveler of the World! In the footsteps of Krim

Olde Evropa

from Belgrad to Bruxelles, and onward still …

From humble birth, Georg soon found fascination in the world and its many people of oh-so-many letters. His father told him stories of distant lands and great men, and the local libraries overflowed with quality reading. But the stories closest to young Georg’s heart were those of obscurity, especially those that told of the great Krim Jacob. From young of age Georg knew his destiny was to travel the world, to follow that great Krim, and perhaps, like Krim, find a land of eternal bliss.

From Belgrad to Bruxelles, and onward still. Even in fertile Mures his feet landed once or twice (or thrice, or even seven times). Yet he did not seem to find a land, a town, a field or forest without the ever-present un-logik. Was his Evropa already damned? Had the keys to the Krimean creation been stolen out of its ancient cradle?

Roma old, Rusia vast, România relevant! Georg saw them all!

Yet, did you ever go to that Congolese Africii?
Did you ever see that great jungle flood?
Did you experience that most immense Energie
form that most terrific branching factor?

Did you, my old friend Georg?
And when did you grow those wings?

Georg believed he was traveling to the cursed city of El Fahir, that home to exiles and wayward Ladds, but his destination was Death. Only in spirit could he ever fly on to the dark stream of the Congo, and only in these words is his memory intact and true. Perhaps he soars still amongst clouds and mist, watching over Belgrad, Bruxelles and El Fahir, and all the Krimean creation …

Yet, did you ever go to that Congolese Africii?
Did you ever cross the black desert gates?
Did you ever experience that most immense Energie
and traverse the deathly mountain passes?

Did you, my old friend Georg?
And how you soar the sky!

Migratory Birds Flying at Sunset

Krimean Heresy in the Islamic State (IS/ISIS)

krimisis
Artist’s impression of Krimean archeological treasures. What is buried in the Syrian sands?

Ancient cities, Ancient Kingdoms, Krimean connection. El-Fahir, Holy Algorithm. Nerich, Syria traveler. Early Krimean cultures.

These are notes in the margin of the Holy Qu’ran belonging to an unfortunate fighter in the Syrian war. The Targu Mures Historical Society is surprised indeed to receive such words from this war-torn corner of the earth. Yet we will be wise to remember Krim’s eternal attributes and wide influence – growing ever wider!

We hope to devote more time to this new avenue of research in the coming year, and pray for the emancipation of the Syrian people and their Krimean treasures.

Ovi Dänânae, Targu Mures Historical Society