Time shifts and flips beneath your feet.
The world revovles at a high speed.
Men are in constant fidgeting,
knowing not, what they need.
It is a job of a broken man,
sitting puzzled at the bank of a dried up river, hoping for a good catch,
to speculate on chances *******,
friends lost,
money spent,
feelings trashed,
and values tossed.
I "love" this time, of followers,
sheep-minded folks, desperate for a shepherd, just as Israelis of ancient begged for a king, because every nation had one.
I have to admit, that man is a puppet after all,
of other men or other idols,
of his own image or his own soul.
It is wise to stop the first urge.
It is wise to deny the first impression.
It is ok to stay at bay, while others swim.
It is ok to stay alone, when others dance.
So, uncool is cool!
Do you get this, fool?
Cause you have no time to mull over what you do.
Rip off the veils,
throw out your amulets,
admit you are weak and mortal.
This is your chance to get near God,
to become the master of your own thoughts.
What for, this pomp?
Of faceless mob,
which very soon
will go to slump.
Its inessential outcry
and denial of truth
seems childish goof
with no real proof.
Wait till its plans get destroyed by death.
So, is it wise to get excited?
Is it prudent to get depressed?
Neither way will bring you good.
Neither path will lift your stress.
Wait for incoming blessing
and if its about to befall,
we'll find out the turn of fate.
Does a little misfortune break
your stance? Does your world stand
on crippled legs?
Beware where to put your faith,
it might have shifty floor or ugly face.
Dont trust beauty, it's always camouflaged. You'll pay a fortune for a broken egg.
Imagine when pretty face gets spoiled by a spot of dirt on a tip of nose. It will change whole plot. Heroes will die and villains emerge.
Someone will sit at the bank of a dried up river,
pondering over a lost chance,
hoping for a good catch.
If you do something, do it for its own sake. For the artistry of moves, complexity of thoughts, delicacy of forms and deepness of meaning.
If you'd had something common with holy, you could have been enlightened
to see that nothing is as it seems.
You could have heard God soothing
to your ears. You could have pillaged your ship built on ancient lies and would have drowned to the deepest bottoms. You would have wanted to be in a free fall, have nothing to stick to, nothing to hold to, no one to rely on. Then you would have relized that freedom is in falling, freedom is in drowning. You might splash the colors and spit the words and call it a self-expression. But you are only a subconsciousness of a sleeping oppression. You can be a fool, but still talk wise. You can be an ugly, but still look nice. Do you have something for yourself to suprise. Before audience gets bored, ready to rise. Unleashing craze with devilish eyes.
Everyone today is an entertainer.
