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Oneness. Prophets. Renaissance

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Oneness

What do you know, arrogant youth,

Of smouldering promises that the truth

Is in there? What do you know,

Greenhouse child? Don’t even show

Your Hollywood tales you were raised on,

You think you’re free - where’s your

bravery gone?

Dividing the world into the right and guilty,

I am an ode and you’re a dritty.

Break the glass - then we'll talk.

December, 2019

Prophets

Who are we, my dear prophet?

Maybe we’re just chasing profit?

Prophets on the trail of fate,

Is it just my wish to hate?

Who is lying?

Maybe our souls are dying?

Egoistic liars,

Are we robots with burnt wires?

Do we want to save this world?

In our thoughts we’re whirled,

We want to save it from itself,

Was it ever about myself?

We keep fighting and running,

It won’t stop the trouble from coming.

Is it worth it? I don’t know,

Tell me once and for all:

Are we doing it for their or our sake?

We want to heal the mankind,

but it’s fake...

To leave our mark on the world’s path,

To be alive until we drown in wrath?

Egoistic beyond comprehension,

Desperate for others’ attention.

Lies, lies, lies,

Oceans of lies,

Prophets are liars,

Children of extinguished fires,

Saviours are deceivers,

Dreamy believers.

If I asked you what you would do,

Would you die for it, too, -

For what you are wishing to get?

It’s Turing test, an unpaid debt.

Bravery is sincere, reflexive concealment,

What inevitably follows is derailment.

November, 2019

Renaissance

I learned not to breathe.

I learned to cover what’s beneath.

In my lungs the air turned into spiny ice.

It seems to me I was born twice.

I learned not to breathe,

To freeze in the ocean that doesn’t seethe

Anymore. Not to flounder, not to drown -

To fly, to be free and to seize my crown.

Not as a cheap candle, but as the sun -

Always burning, not on the run.

Being a picture, not a pencil sketch.

It is my name what I’ll for ever etch.

I learned not to breathe.

I’ve torn off my wreath.

I’m not afraid, I won’t turn back,

I’m not in defence, I always attack.

Won’t give free rein to feelings and -

God forbid! - to tears, they pass in the end,

Dancing on the edge of a knife

Is a never-ending skilful strife

At which I am already advanced…

I learned not to breathe.

I learned to cover what’s beneath.

December, 2019

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