Записки Безымянного [поэзия] | страница 4

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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,

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