Записки недопросветленного [поэзия] [Прохор Николаевич Озорнин Тимонг Лайтбрингер] (fb2) читать постранично, страница - 2

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You cannot escape, you may only hide,

But this cannot help - for he is inside.

Once being awoken it will bite and tear,

And what is the worst - he sleeps just so near…

Освободиться

Can you hear my voice? I shall speak of your choice,

Of the bonds you've been given, of unreachable heaven,

Of the freedom you've lost to become nameless ghost,

Of the life you do live, helping prison to thrive.

Can you hear me now? You are one in a row,

Perfect soldier in all but to find own goal,

But to follow your mind which is gone with a wind,

And to find own path, being "I" and not "Us",

Being one in a crowd, stepping your own road

And ignoring comment, that thus safety does end.

One, who wants to break free, one, who wants to be man,

Needs willpower to see - he's a slave now and then,

Moving predefined ways, speaking his usual "nays",

Watching all-common faces, racing other ones’ races.

Never will slavery end, never will prison break

Till you find inner land - and the willpower you seek.

Will you hear me now, being one in a row?

It's your mind who'll break free - and one day that you'll see.

Огненный Меч

I have been given flaming blade

To pierce night and fight with shade,

And it is glowing with that fire

The source of which is my desire.

It has seen war, it knows of peace,

It chopped heads, it burned grease,

And it executed swift death,

For some it's curse, for others bless.

It has severed diseased limbs,

It has exposed others’ sins,

It was a torch for ones in dark,

Cut out exit to those stuck.

It settled disputes in the world,

It used to touch the right heart's chord,

Its clang alone can make heart brave,

And it is lost for those who rave.

It is engulfed in the flame

And thus can make its wielder lame,

It brings uncommon sort of fame

Which clears heart and grants no shame.

Yes, I can feel its heat in hands ...

This blade has traveled many lands

And many battles it has seen,

Those armed with it destined to win.

It's a reflection of a Word,

Which always touches rightist chord

And purifies its victim's heart ...

Eternal justice, friend and guard.

Он внутри

He is inside, and he is within,

He is enslaved and cannot be seen,

He is alive, and yet he is dead,

He is a joy, but now he is sad.

You've searched beyond for millennia years,

You've praised his name in your salty blood tears -

And thus he became the punishment tool,

And you have become a ritual fool.

But still you all hope to see him one day

And listen to what this one has to say…

He might and he would, he did and he does,

Wrong place you search still where he never goes.

But turn off your mind and let silence reign,

And listen to what your heart would be saying …

And then lost yourself - what did not exist,

Your mind would be pure, your sight wouldn't twist.

You'll hear the voice, silenced for so long,

True part of yourself with such a strange tongue.

For he is within, but rare to find...

You'll know this one day -

Your God is inside.

Я не пастух, я не лакей

I am a light in the darkest night,

I am a stone on the road that is right,

I am a mead in a sorrow's potion,

I am but a tear in a life’s ocean.

I am not one to follow,

I am not one to blame,

And my pass won't be sorrowed,

Thus I don't feel ashamed.

I am not of the chosen,

I am not of the right -

I am just but a mortal

Who is simply not blind.

And I don't see the future,

And I can't alter souls,

I am but a life's teacher

Who has no selfish goals.

And as long as I'm here

Standing fast, holding ground,

You may not have the fear

For new life is around.

All to see you are happy

Lightened ones, helping others,

So one day in the long last

I can call you “my brothers”.

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.