Тимонг Лайтбрингер: Записки недопросветленного [поэзия]

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.

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”.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.