It is the dream of my origin,
For in the dreams I am still virgin,
And still I'm fighting with my sleep,
But hesitate - that's why I weep.

My worthless dreams I must deny,
But still afraid to make the try,
For who am I now to decide
What dream is wrong, what dream is right?

My purest dream is that of bird -
It is the symbol of the world
Which always change and born anew,
This bird I am, like it I flew.

For like a phoenix I reborn ...
My wings may melt, my wings may worn,
But I'm constantly born anew,
I'm many-faced in others view.

I am restored in the fire,
The fire's cold, that fire's dire,
It forges one's wings to make him flyer ...
It is a grand sight to admire.

From former ego it deprives,
And, as its victim slowly dies,
His flesh begins to grow anew ...
And still survivors are so few.

I'm passing through this coldest hell,
My burning skin is all I smell,
My former past will once unfold ...
It is a strange sight to behold.

For I am one without name,
I've lost my past, rejected fame,
The Earth will never be my home ...
I will be free the time I'm gone.

All other worlds awaiting me ...
I will awake, I shall break free,
Inside myself I'm searching deeper -
Such is the fate of the Unsleeper.

No one can help me on my path,
I'm always self, I'm never "us",
Through divine hell I'm passing by
To forge the wings for final flight.

The time will come, I will reborn,
My former skin myself I'll torn,
Reborn anew, becoming flyer -
It's all the wish, it's one's desire.

03.07.2009

Success

What does one strife for, if not success?
Constantly pressured, each day in stress?

What do I care? Listen or not -
Poem's successful, still being hot.

For politician it's measured in voices,
And for musician it's all in the noises.

For the reporter - it's in sensations,
And for astronomer - in observations.

As for the priest - it's measured in souls,
And for each medic it's counted in bowels.

For common mystic it's in divinations.
What of the killer? In annihilations.

For simple writer it's in the novels,
For complex digger it's in the shovels.

For undertaker this one's in corpse,
For the oculist this one's in orbs.

It's in new places for endless strollers
And for all merchants all in the dollars.

And for the army it's in the wars ...
Now do you see where successful one goes?

And for the planet it's in the us.
Want be successful? See where this goes?

Or will prefer not to race for success,
Driving as madman, always in stress?

Spirit success now is being so rare ...
Poem's successful ... what do I care?

11.04.2010

Heart