I’ve come to this for now at last –
All past no more than a dust
With dead ideals full of rust
Now blown away with fresh wind’s gust.
I am much older that I seem,
No more than a chip in stream,
I am no body and no mind…
The day they die – I’ll live behind.
I am the many and still one,
All these “me”s look just so fun,
And day by day they pass me by …
It is all me – and still not I.
I have no wings – thus cannot fly,
There are no means to make a try,
And still I say – the heavens’ mine,
In own dreams I soar just fine.
And in the way to consciousness skies
I have been given one small prize,
Which is a key to final cage –
This blade of word will free the sage.
It is a weapon, this word’s blade,
From ore of stars it has been made,
And though this gift may not be perfect –
It is a wonderful side effect…