Prose

Rhetorica: Illerakal (To Illera)

c. 5800 tgc; written post-hoc in Zeyetaní.

Solí illai vis, khé kedobíyerías oshé alaifoiniñkai iv ighú-lú tsas atetíau thanatelíal thelekhtil kai vis. Ekla Illera sainí koisas vis. La kelsuntanías viris, khé keltshentanías vil kin. La vis enzí melías tsila nohis hé tsila il Lilitina vis. Robéú tes re, Telaífe, tshayekhta oshé kedoplekal tsilú múrúkuríús ílú ole vis alezilleponarbías vis. Ekla olú vis, tsoines lapína-múrínedení ibedaflai, tsilai lúbedlapías vis, khé tsilai khraleshir gendafustedzhurí fíyéthawa il Leraiome, tsús sefrí sasithais atshai vis des keldothí kosithekhtíai il Tshentina haisitheshis kin. Enzí tsoines bepteneí kedoplelai hé shúkogeneí fernowelai sainí thelvíai aloshéfuríais thahis, khé rokis tsé sai eryes stillaklai tsilai tsoines vis udzhis. Olíel la thelekhtil, khé la íomanazet il saní stina wonil tsoines siméwú tsilé sa wonir alezkin. La yesithet il Zhofekhtía-la, shú troget il Gripso-lo, shú yeflovét il Serpo-lo atalai woisil. Zeléú, la aleponías vil; yeresí aleponyera iv kezdúshkí ketabazai-lai tsilai olíal tshotanai kossezaʳlemir. Khé thoies laní leroletekhtíawa, tshoines alesturí bedlapíptina, híéú sa natúmúril.

There are few things harder to swallow than the thought of raising a child in a graveyard. But Illera is our home. It was the first; it may very well be the last. It is the sole remaining place that is truly and entirely of the Lilitai. Perhaps to you, Telau, hope for returning to a rock as plague-haunted as this is incomprehensible. But it is here, in the mineral-poisoned cave waters, icy and tinged with the mirthless pink of cobalt, that the stars are so quiet that the hoarse whispers of the past can be heard. It is only in the dripping stones and boiling tableaux that our souls become clear, and allow us to peer into the gods within. Here, she shall grow, and she shall learn the ways of my people in a manner which I could not. She will not know the echo of the shattering, or the talons of the gryphon, or the coils of the snake. Instead, she shall be free; freer even than the doomed nomads who first settled here. And through her sprouting in the bitter frost, I too shall heal.

Gleméa: Oshes Suntumekha (On the Future)

73 lilpo; late Íomanazinení.

Mímeftífasa, mefístífasa, hé eftetífasa. Iraltes tañgozúí pléovutelasa, Shúthímina dotwémefete tsilikhe sasa aleztrúir kin sikhasa nateponir. Lina genthimí alenzegímekha il aleñkía apes viñgarobí tsoilumelete tsilikhe oshú sasaní nekofíkhete viñkai kírobir sikhasa washuthir. Ekla repetshaline il shemasa Alestéïkha il Sarthía alégalsir, khé laní kelnaití oksinení dzútheluvikha alégalsir. Fínanéú, alíes tshentiwa, sasa olímele nohenai vis; Sasaní litswe tamaksúatis, khé íois Zeltetéiwa, le wes yerezivíutele iv lengozúí pléovete thelekhtatis. Les elí zhé lenúí leyer pléovutele, sasa atshinikhasa sasaní koisukhila kolinturai zedzhratis. Lasa aleponikha sumefasa reztonir, khé sasa karsokhurí felozikhete tsile il oksíkwíne wes múí talutele núéú vir matatis, khé sasa muretrí masakímefasa foivímekhasa he thelasa-rezanivímekhasa thelekhtatis. Ekla mes natkireshkí aleñkímela oshes múí staíodzhumefa yolí sampo vis kai; elasséú sasaní keltshelví Rotomemasa, kipes tsilasa lí motumela olí durasa thebeshir ketabikhasa vir híéú, lina búteʳkikhete hé melikhete tsilikhe lina sampukhilo zedzhrir kin nohenai írir. Sasa oltalai alezíris. Róbéú wes múí pleovéutela sasa linaní dúra-dústikhasa meʳlil, khé sasaní kenzí mímeftikhete, natkireshkí bímiwete hé shúmiwete rístobeshil. Ekla tse tsikhe lete nohenai vis tshírobis kai gewonaní ighufile vis kai; híéú dzeñkrivíufile tse lete lí sútshukhil sikhasa trúís kai vis kai. Rasa sikha oshes rezarumekhe oshe Lilitinikha dústebenis, khé sa rikhasa oshes vekhtumekhe dzafis, lúmotéú sa les tshentutela dzafatis: Sasa pléikha* oshumela koisikha dústebil ossezmeʳlil. Sa tsikhe atshasa rikhasa haisithis kai tshayis; wes olí tshokiputela keltalai lesil ím. *replaced by "elía" in some transcriptions

Sisters, mothers, and daughters. Seventy-two years ago, the Winds of Fate freed us from chains we could not always see. They blew us to the cold vacuum of space, in shipping containers which were sure to be our coffins. But the potential outcomes of the situation did not aid the Sadist of Sarthía's writings, and did not aid her ancient Oksian counterpart. Instead, against the past, we are still here; our population has normalized, and by Creation, it has been growing for more than 24 years. For that half-century, we have called the stars our home contently. They taught us freedom, and we have met compassionate strangers which were at one time also of the Oksine, and we have grown from blind newborns to sophisticated and independent people. But in open space no safety exists for a civilization; although our ancient ancestors, in whose style these ships were made, were nomads also, they still had military facilities and places that they could call safe. We now do not. Maybe one day we will find their ship-yards, and our distant sisters will greet us with open arms and wings. But to assume [the notion] that they are unchanging would be fool's thought; also, it would be the same that they would see us as their kind. You have trusted me for the task of building the Lilitai, and I ask you for an act, in the same way I have asked in the past: We must find a planet* where we will build a home. I hope that the stars always hear you; drink freely this morning. *replaced by "location" in some transcriptions

Poetry

Sarthía: Oshes Stillumekhasa (For the Goddesses)

190 lilpo; Zeyetaní.

Nolí atshau rífa manazis. Olí atshal leres yerúí illerekhai'l illai milíis. Lai tse ra lasa trúis woisis, lúmotéú ra trete ahis stile lasa lí koisau trúis, khé lifasa rikha tshengebis, núéú. Fínanes nolí melíwe tsilel ra gil, ral leres tamaksai trúeshil. Ra laklai mañkolinte rebil? Dí?

Pick any star in the sky. On this star a thousand symbols of ideas dance. They know that you can see them, just as you have the eyes to see their home, and they can watch you, too. Regardless of any place you will go, they will always look down upon you. Will you make them proud? Will you?

Sarthía: Stillelíai (Places of the Goddesses)

95 lilpo; Zeyetaní.

Vinkai 'zzéú tsú as' Stillai oisthebiris apes as' achalai, hé 'lez apes as' amelíalai'l sai swai 'shes lainí slinekí'fía gis, 'líledí sai. Robéú éta'ltú sai 'víhasa zíyetusil kin kai, khé gestrímané'l oz' moi swoi sasa legiril kelmoaz galéú 'pes loi gewonení géloheklai.

Were it only that the goddesses resided in the stars, and not in the hearts of us who move to their wills, unbidden. Perhaps then we might forgive ourselves and the hubris of the ones who led us so fiercely into their petty struggles.

Fínanía: Míteví Súa il Kezdúfa (First Poem of Sorrow)

216 lilpo; early Venrafía.

Kel'raltes mesha albediris, ekhessai il fa kezdúnohis. Nohenéú la kenzad vendis, woisenis des sai alésivlis. Saní 'mezrífa o'tal ogis, raní thimí aléfau rebis. Sai zhampebolebías vilis, tshenta tshelves saklai rokis. Narezí atsh'vai gontúkeshil ilú tsheñkasireshkías vil dzhethotonai. Poluw'as vil plé'vai tsilai sagevad alyil.

Long ago the pain dried up, the shadows of the light stay for misery's sake. Still it waits distantly, knowing we cannot run. My love, come to me; and grant me your safe darkness. We can say our goodbyes and permit the past to be behind us. No more days shall rot like forgotten grapes will be. Happy shall be the years that will patiently await us.