Выбери любимый жанр

Записки недопросветленного [поэзия] - Лайтбрингер Тимонг - Страница 3

Изменить размер шрифта:

Человек Многих Имен

I don't know why I feel I am

Once lived through all of this - and then

I have forgotten who I was,

Who were my friends, who were my foes,

How I was called, and how I died ...

This feeling does constantly bite,

But still my memory is mist ...

It's like I start with empty list.

And yet some sparks of former life

Feel very old the time I dive

Into reflection of myself -

And this makes squeeze my soul nerve.

I feel I once had many names ...

Are these but dreams, just madness games ?

I might have gone completely mad,

But these feelings long have bred.

I worn them all, they were like clothes

For man with many names I was

And many faces I once had ...

I am, no doubt, truly mad.

How one can live the endless life

And pass through death ... and still survive ?

And still in times remember that

Another own name he had ?

They are all mine, I once were them,

All these persons in the pram,

Like were-man I always shift ...

Is it a curse, is it a gift ?

Is there is one beyond them all

That is my only truly goal,

The one, who never had the name,

The Nameless One ... are we the same ?

I will remember once them all

For this is only worthy goal ...

The time will come, I'll pass through flames

To be the Man Of Many Names.

Не первый, не последний

One always speaks about self

Whether through action or just barf,

But words may too have sort of price -

They serve as tools for those who’re wise.

Who am I then to speak of me ?

From pain of past it makes you free,

So now I'm throwing it aboard -

My truly useless, bloody world.

I may be warm, I may be cold,

I am both fearful and bold,

For some I'm moon, for others sun,

From both I'm always in the run.

I am quite normal and still mad,

I am both happy and both sad,

And during life's entire span

I will be known as no-one.

And I can fight, and I can hide,

I'm still so weak ... and full of might,

I'm own master, own pet,

Is it just good, is it so bad ?

I am both known and unnamed,

Inside I'm wild, but act like tamed,

I am always free and yet enslaved,

I'm used to speak the truth and raved.

In times I'm kind, sometimes fierce,

I was born there - and from stars,

I am, like others, one of a kind,

I'm often wrong, sometimes I'm right.

If I had time I would but try

To find the means to soar for sky,

But first I have to reach just me -

This kind of knowledge makes one's free.

Of what I am, and who I was -

I'll have to answer to all those

Silented questions of my past ...

I am not first, I am not last.

Один из Многих

I am the voice of Evolution,

I am the bringer of Confusion,

I am the whisper in the Noise,

I am the teller of the Choice.

I am one of Many, who're now Few,

I am the maker of new View,

In universe I'm like a Grain

Yet what I do is not in Vain.

No more Pet, no longer Beast,

The road is clear - doesn't twist,

I'm flying now on Wings of Fate,

I've come in time to pass the Gate.

The world is shifting in Frustration,

But underneath lives New Formation.

It won't be quick, it will take time

As this New Order starts to shine.

You see the roof, I look in depths,

To find Divine I take the steps,

Believe or not, one day you'll see -

It is not I - it's all through me.

For those who find are never Wany ...

I'm not alone - I'm one of Many.

P.S.

There is a power in the name

That may be scorched by the fame,

And that is why the truly wise

Will once destroy those painful ties,

He will become the Nameless One,

For he is child of the sun,

For he has travelled his life's road

In search of universal God,

And he's already seen a lot,

Still being smallest spark of God,

Still feeling crawlings of sensation

That he is one of His creation.

Oh, does it matter who he is ?

He has to pay his own fees

To burn inside this smallest spark

And free the past out of dark.

The name was given once again ...

Is it too old to live on then ?

It has some power of the steep -

And part of it I will then keep.

The second part means nothing now,

For it reminds me of the Row,

And as suggested by the God

This part I'll throw on passed road.

What does it mean - the change of name ?

Inside myself I'm still the same.

And I was free to create name

That may stand up against fame,

It is both real and both not,

For I'm but smallest spark of God,

In second name I'm long too plunged -

It is untouched, first is changed.

When time will come to pay my fee,

Those blessed with Word will join me.

This word will grow like eucaliptus -

And in your lifes it'll be Post Scriptus.

Перейти на страницу:

Вы читаете книгу

Записки недопросветленного [поэзия]

Лайтбрингер Тимонг

Наши партнеры