CALM BETWEEN THE STORMS
It seemed like your whole life was leading
to this very point, the singularity of fate,
the ground zero that would turn you into
what you felt you were meant to be. You
were preparing for this since you realised
the current of coincidences within the
timescape. And not for a second did you
doubt yourself.
And then you failed.
Miserably.
Nothing you’ve done or thought of doing
could have prepared you for this.
You have failed.
The path of your fate will remain vacant.
You return to where you have come from,
void of energy, void of purpose, resigned.
And you are looking at me to verify for you
that this is all there is, and that to hope
you could have gone further was a vain
illusion, to agree that you are right in your
misery and that the self-pity you are now
embracing is the only true and deserved
consolation. But you will hear none of that
from me. This one try has broken you
down and you seem too happy to accept
the failure, you think you are done with it.
Have you ever considered that the failure
itself is part of the lesson you need to
learn? Because I cannot tell you the full
truth: this is all there is and you have only
this much time to have a go at it. And that
maybe one day you realise that the place
you are running away from is the place you
run to, since it is much more in any aspect
you can think of than you have ever
dreamed of, you just didn’t see it.
Haunted eyes
Backward glance
Nervous smile
Pale in face
Whispered words
Silent plea
Shoulders tense
Full of fear
Back on your feet
Back on your feet
Sometimes you’d get hit and you’ll bleed
Stand on your feet
Stand on your feet
Those who give up don’t succeed
Bruised on your knees
Bruised on your pride
Bad luck seems
On your side
Feeling weak
In your joints
Breaking down
From within
Back on your feet
Back on your feet
Sometimes you’d get hit and you’ll bleed
Stand on your feet
Stand on your feet
Those who give up don’t succeed
You just need bit of time and shelter
Put back together who you are
Lick your wounds and prepare for later
All problems never stray too far
I know you think this is too early
You better do not stay too long
What haunts you is not getting weaker
Delaying does not make you strong
Back on your feet
Back on your feet
Sometimes you’d get hit and you’ll bleed
Stand on your feet
Stand on your feet
Those who give up don’t succeed
DOOM LIVE
Sometimes it feels like you are living within
a mediacracy where strings are pulled by
some kind of ill cult of doom prophets.
Nothing seems to be more desired topic of
discussion than mortality in real time.
Walking by the TV sets at a store you
glimpse the news reporter, flaming fury at
the background. You’d bet they make
special make-up to look good in front of
flames for these people. The radio tells you
the death toll taken on the roads. Forget
the newspapers. Standing in the queue at a
counter you will always unwillingly
overhear news of some brand new tragedy
followed by the default
ohmygodthatmusthavebeenterrible
insight. Waiting at the bus station, sitting in
the canteen trying to swallow your dinner,
just walking through the town or chilling
out at a cafe. There is always someone
speaking about suffering, and there are
always others willing to listen. Wanting
more. Details. Everyone is sucking in
someone else’s misery like it could prevent
their own. And there is never enough of it.
And there is never any lack of it... You
realise it is also desperation and fear that
makes these people cling to every word, as
if their own name or face was just about to
come up, like by doing exactly this they
could prevent it from happening. Postpone
your death by gorging on others’.
A mass of death comes through the screen
Like world would end shortly it seems
An earthquake killing man and child
A fire taking town and wild
Tragedy
Breaking news
Watch it all
What’s to loose
A wind crushing all in its course
A wave hitting with brutal force
A bomb walking into a mall
All types of death, we see it all
People die
Lives destroyed
You can’t help but feel betrayed
All the pain
on the loose
Death: the selling point of news
We want to see
All tragedy
Others reach graves
But we feel safe
Hypnotised by destruction
Real life becomes an abstraction
All sorrow, loss and fates undone
Erode your soul until you’re numb
We want to see
All tragedy
Feeling blessed, resurrected
Behind the screen protected
We need to see
All tragedy
For every death broadcasted
We praise our Lord and Master
Hollow eyes
Red and sore
Does your doom knock at your door
Hollow eyes
Panic deep
Would it creep in while you sleep
Feeling blessed, resurrected
Behind the screen protected
THE HIKE
You’ve been left all alone. It’s not that
everybody deserted you, it’s more that you
have deserted them, over time, and they
have now only acknowledged the true
state of things by giving up on you. It all
started as a trickle of small things,
irrelevant misunderstandings bloated by
your ego, conflicts over pity things when
you refused to give ground even if the fault
was on your side. Stone-hard conviction of
you being always right. Inability to accept
that if things were not going as you’d
wanted them to they were wrong by
default. Glum content if things turned out
exactly as you expected, no matter what
was the collateral damage, they brought it
on themselves, right? The triumphant
feeling when you were asked to help,
immediately rendering the person in need
inferior to yourself simply by the fact they
had to ask, couldn’t cope by themselves.
Your presence, an obsidian statue at the
centre of the realm of you, unbreakable,
untouchable, perfect. Too perfect for
anyone but you to appreciate it. So why do
you feel let down when they walked away?
You subconsciously understand you don’t
need any of them, so why the feeling of
loss, the void inside you burning with a
chilling pain of refusal around the edges.
You realise there is no coming back, you
would not be admitted. You need to carry
on, on your own. Your time is not up yet,
and if this is the path you have laid in front
of you, you have to take it. Don’t look back
over your shoulder, that would be a sign of
weakness, even longing, perhaps, like you
could actually feel that way about it. Go,
before your defences start to break, and
you leak some regret through the cracks.
Go, before you crumble and plea for
forgiveness; they will never hear that one
from you. Go.
Drag your feet through bone-white sea of
dust
Reminding yourself why you're here, why
you must
In this barren land behind your eyes
This barren land, your soul
Feel the pain of every single step
Through this hollow gallery of (the) life you
led
This is what you pay
For the chance to stay
In this barren land behind your eyes
This barren land, your soul
You will stumble, you will fall
Hesitate, you’d loose it all
Timeline carves the path ahead
You keep up or you are dead
…walk the desert of your soul
Bite your tongue until tears blur your sight
Thank for every bruise on the skin of your
pride
This is what you give
For the chance to live
In this barren land behind your eyes
This barren land, your soul
You will stumble, you will fall
Hesitate, you’d loose it all
Timeline carves the path ahead
You keep up or you are dead
While you move you feel alive
On all four, crawling, you strive
Absolution so unclear
…all you hope it's drawing near
…walk the desert of your soul
INVOLVED
You know their names and faces. Buying
support through promises that never get
fulfilled, but always due to extrinsic
reasons. Morality code proudly carved into
stone gets eroded by processes
accompanying the struggle for power so
when re-inspected it is conveniently barely
legible and open to interpretation.
Personal integrity twisted beyond
recognition if it serves the purpose of
retaining the status-quo. Ability to believe
in your own lies forgetting them for what
they are so the common conscience
remains squeaky clean. Circling around the
event horizon of the power singularity,
absorbing anything emitted from within
and sieving through the energy streaming
inwards, but avoiding falling behind the
line of no-return. Ticks. The anger is
swirling within you but they are so far from
reach, and backed with a very good alibi –
they have not promoted themselves to
their positions, have they? No, we all did.
Either through support, or by ignorance, or
even through the rejection of the
opportunity to choose. It feels there is no
choice at all since all options are regretful.
But there must be something weird in the
system nevertheless since even if a good
intention or a process leading to an
objective improvement is inserted it never
seems to get realised, or immerses twisted
and contrary to the initial definition. It is
hard to blame the system, so it is the faces
you learn to despise. It is also a convenient
hate, safe, from the distance, as brave as
the denial of any participation on the state
of things you proudly announce. What
would you turn into in their position…
Would you be able to confront them face
to face?
It makes me wonder
How the likes of you
Keep on coming, climbing high
How after a review
all inconvenient truths
get turned into lies
If I had you by your throat
Would I squeeze or let go
Would I hold back, be strong
I can’t make right by doing wrong
And now they’re installed
Now they are in charge
Serving sour wine
Cold wind of change
New code of conduct
…watch your feet and you’ll be fine.
If I had you by your throat
Would I squeeze or let go
Would I hold back, be strong
I can’t make right by doing wrong
Look in the mirror
Who’s to blame
for this was our choice
How many more times
Before we learn
to regain our voice
If I had you by your throat
…snowball in hell
Would I squeeze or let go
…am I to tell?
Would I hold back, be strong
…you’re weak and small
I can’t make right by doing wrong
…do nothing at all
THE HIKE II.
You came back and in your face I can read
another failure, another collision with the
limits of the flesh and spirit within. And I
am glad for that. Because that means you
have not given up. Because that means you
understand that the day you’d stop trying
is the day you start to wither away. You do
not need convincing any more. You hurt,
and your body has the evidence of the
nature of the last defeat written all over it.
So you need time to learn to read it, to
investigate, to figure out how to prevent
the same mistakes when you’d go to give it
another try. And, of course, you need rest,
to reconcile who you were with who you
are, to create whoever you will become.
The risk is in spending too much time on
this. The longer you lie in contemplation
the longer it will take you to realign with
the grit of the reality, the sharpness of the
pendulum cutting away seconds, the
distance you will need to overcome. You
may theoretically figure out how to avoid
all threats you are aware of, but if you in
the process forget the searing intensity of
reality it will all be useless when you are hit
with it again. So open your eyes when you
can, not only when it is safe. Get back on
your feet when you think you can walk, not
when you stop being afraid you’d stumble.
Move out again when you believe you can
feel the path unfolding, further waiting will
not provide a map for you to follow.
…sometimes it may be wiser to build a ship
to cross the waters. Sometimes it is wiser
just to jump in, and swim. The trick is in
knowing which is the right choice at the
time. But nothing can teach you to gain
this knowledge. How ironic.
What did you say?
You’re lost on the way…
No need to cry
I know you have tried
But when you feel tired
Everything hurts
Tell me what have you learned
Whisper the words
Get back on your feet
You’ll find what you need
Wherever you go
Is where you should be
And when you feel tired
Everything hurts
Remember what have you learned
Whisper the words
Rise and shine
It’s down to what you still believe
Rise and shine
Your fate is what you can perceive
Trust in what you feel
Pain’s always sincere
Doubt all that you fear
…and all will come clear
And when you feel tired
Everything hurts
Remember what have you learned
Whisper the words
Rise and shine
It’s down to what you still believe
Rise and shine
Your fate is what you can perceive
Rise and shine
You cannot win but you could loose
Rise and shine
Once you were born you cannot choose
Nothing good comes without a fight
Without a flame there is no light
The flame will once burn all your time
But until then it’s down to you... to try to...
THE GRIEF
He had been sitting in that chair since
eternity, and then some more. Most likely
probably since he came from work that
afternoon, opened the fridge to get
something cold to drink, and heard the
telephone ringing. And he picked it up. If
you were there you could hear the purring
of the compressor of the open fridge as it
tries and fails to keep up with the sensor
feed. But he is totally oblivious to that
sound. All sounds, for that matter. He does
not hear further ringing of the phone, the
door-bell, the banging on the door. The
barking of the hungry dog from the
backyard. He just sits in the chair, staring
into nothingness. He is not asleep, but also
he is not fully awake. At some point his
body gives up and he partly rolls, partly
falls down from the chair. He does not
notice. He is oblivious to everything but
whatever happens beyond his unblinking
eyes. He does not notice the nightfall. Or
the dawn. Or how many of them. He does
not notice when the house door breaks
inwards and the men come to him with the
mobile bed on the telescopic wheels. Some
more time and he’d lose the ability to
notice anything anymore. But he is not
grateful. He does not feel much because
his system has had to shut itself down to
prevent him going insane. He does not feel
anything resembling an emotion. Not since
the voice in the telephone receiver told
him his son is dead.
All that is left
Is vanity, futility
The God’s greatest theft
The ultimate irony
But it’s me
Standing here
But it's me
One last tear and it’s done
I am reduced
A pity bag of memories
I wish I’d forget
To burn all that inventory
But I’m still
Standing here
One last tear
One last tear and you’re gone
I know you try
To stand by me, to empathize
You cannot know
How this feels, pulverized
But it’s me
Kneeling here
But it’s me
One last handful of soil
Spare me your sympathy
Don’t speak about pain
There is no way you can feel what I feel
today
Spare me your sympathy
It comes out lame
I only wish you would never go through the
same
Nothing will be
Nothing will be the same
What was to be
Destroyed to the smallest grain
How could this be
There is no more: again
I don’t believe
I just cannot believe
Spare me your sympathy
Don’t speak about pain
There is no way you can feel what I feel
today
Spare me your sympathy
It comes out lame
I only wish you would never go through the
same
DARK SIDE OF CONSCIENCE
The truth inside a lie
Everything has changed. It was only a
moment of inattention and most of your
past has turned into impenetrable mist.
You can speak, and write, you’ve tried that,
but you have difficulties to get into
alignment with everything. They came to
see you and said they were your family,
friends; you understand the concept, but
that is just about it. You felt strange since
some started to cry, and that triggered the
tears in your eyes too, but you were not
entirely sure it was right or wrong. You are
not entirely sure what feels right or wrong.
You feel mass of emotions swirling within
you, but you cannot tag them, give them a
polarity that could help you to guide you
out of this mess. You understand there is
what used to be you somewhere there in
the mist, and you are unsure if you should
try to dig it up and investigate, or if it’ll
come back in time. Or what if you are back
at the start with nothing to lean on? You
feel empty and that makes you unsettled.
There had to be experience, good and bad,
that probably kept you going along
whatever you considered your path. Would
you make a new one? Could you take back
only the good to help you to kick-off? Or
would you prefer the bad to be able to
prevent yourself from making the same
mistakes again? Which side of your
personality is more valuable when your life
implodes? Suddenly you feel afraid of
whatever is to be, so disconnected from
what was. But then you smile – your
emotional landscape just started to shape
itself, again.
And all you’ve built comes down on you
Somehow you do not care, was it ever
true?
There is no loss, regret, or shame
When all is changed you are not the same
Between you and your shadow
Within your fingerprint
Inside your bone, your marrow
I’m all you ever feared
A splinter in your eye
God and me, ever-present
Part of our profession
He owns your soul, I own
Your latent obsessions
And all you’ve built comes down on you
Somehow you do not care, was it ever
true?
There is no loss, regret, or shame
When all is changed you are not the same
When all you’ve held as dear
Has all but disappeared
It’s what you’ve always feared
But can you say you feel…relieved…
When what defines you disappears
All dreams, all needs, all secret fears
When you are stripped down to the bone
Will you need me or can you live on your
own
A splinter in your eye
The truth inside a lie
And all you’ve built comes down on you
Somehow you do not care, was it ever
true?
There is no loss, regret, or shame
When all is changed you are not the same
FOR JANA
When you are small they are the strangely
smelling people when they cradle you in
their arms. When you are bigger they are
the terribly slow people who always keep
you back from all the thrills, but to be fair
they get you ice cream or so occasionally.
When you get to school age they define
what old means. When you are in your
teens they are unbearable with their
stone-age opinions and inapplicable
behavioural expectations, but you
occasionally relieve them of some money
so let’s rise above that. When you sort of
get on your own feet they may become the
old folks necessary to go and see if there is
a birthday or Christmas involved, but it
does have a hint of obligation since
although they seem to really look forward
to see you and may hang on your every
word when you are allowed to speak in the
breaks in the nostalgic litany delivered by
them, you feel you want to be somewhere
else, somewhere more alive and current.
Eventually the rabid current of your life
may put even wider gap between you and
them and, if you ever even visit, all the
time spent in their presence seems only to
promote how disconnected you have
become, how seemingly little common you
still share. But then, still later, when you’ll
start to realise that it is not within human
possibilities to keep aligned with seemingly
constantly accelerating stream of life, that
you simply cannot keep finger on the pulse
of every single trickle, you begin to look
back to your roots, to your origin, to where
you’ve come from and where you once felt
you belonged. And maybe you realise
there is more there, not just a nostalgic
flavour of things gone, not just a homage
to be sung for those who helped you on
your way, but a debt that you have not
understood, a debt that you will now never
be able to settle.
You could see her standing
On the crossroads, waiting
Hesitant to move at last
Lost within commotion
Less than abstract notion
As here and now was flicking past
Why does all seem faster?
Why does all run past her?
Why does she seem left behind…
Not that she would choose it
She started to lose it
…what her whole life took to find
She’s leaving tonight
The cold of hospital bed
She’s leaving tonight
Silence ripe with things unsaid
She’s leaving for good
While young is the night
She’s leaving for good
She has won the final fight
She used to have a purpose
And time was always surplus
It always is until there’s none
She used to have some power,
Few wishes, desires
First long gone, the rest undone
Husk of a smile
A tiny sigh
Close your eyes
It gets too bright
Husk of a smile
Wrinkle deep
Close your eyes, fall asleep
She’s leaving tonight…
Husk of a smile…
So as her presence withers
You’d wished that you were with her
So at the end she’s not alone
…but there’s too late for wishes
Just empty room to witness
When she decides to leave her home
THIN PATIENCE
There used to be two of us, do you
remember? The two lads growing together
in the neighbourhood, sharing the same
secret hideouts, together working out the
breathtakingly cunning plans on how to
escape and become the Indians, bear
hunters, Astronauts, how to obtain super
powers and become the saviours of
whatever we considered important. Yes, it
usually was you the hero, with me the sidekick, but there was the common
understanding that the first mean little
without the second. Later we tended to
spy on the girls together, and when that
turned into more proactive attitude, you
usually were the one with the sweet
tongue, but I was the one to work out the
ideas and arrangements so the mission
could get accomplished for both. Then we
started the business, still together, still
inseparable. Although something begun to
change. You were still the face and the
voice, but somehow you started to forget
who is holding your back, who is always in
the vicinity should you start to slip. The we
disappeared, replaced by I, especially when
successes were considered. The we
disappeared, replaced by you whenever
failures happened. Eventually I’ve become
a nuisance, a weight restricting you from
flight. But I am starting to think enough is
enough. I have been silent for long, but
maybe it is time I spoke. I just need one
more drop into otherwise already full cup
of my patience. The day Laurel confronted
Hardy.
How far you want to push this,
has this just not been enough?
You won, what more can you want,
my grave, no epitaph?
Be careful what you try to claim,
Maybe it’s not what you’d expect to see
This time I may just call your game
…will it break you and will it set me free?
…what we could never agree:
Perception of what is fair
When did you convince yourself
I’ve taken more than my share?
Be careful what you try to claim,
Maybe it’s not what you’d expect to see
This time I may just call your game
…will it break you and will it set me free?
Did you really think
You could fly those wings of lies
Did you really think
If confronted I’ll never rise
…but not this time
…you crossed the line
Be careful what you try to claim,
Maybe it’s not what you’d expect to see
This time I may just call your game
…will it break you and will it set me free?
WATCHDOGS
They were always around. Since the first
attempt to establish a governing system
based on population control, means to
enforce it were needed. And since
seemingly the most effective tool to obtain
obedience is fear, such were the means.
Any physical threat diminishes in absence
of identified representative of the forces
that be, a threat embodied in invisible but
potentially present executor does not ever
cease. Especially if once in a while they
make themselves known, not by an
appearance, but by an act. Although we
assume they are just instruments in the
hands of those who lead, who has the
power? Do you fear the leaders, or those
who move obscured? Who has the
control? How do you control the hound
when the basic premise is it will never
wear collar and will never be restricted in
its movement? By getting a bigger
hound…? Imagine you had the power,
what would you do with it? Would you be
content with acting as a weapon in
someone else’s hand? Or would you prefer
being considered a weapon in someone
else’s hand but free to pursue your own
agenda? And what would that be? Power
in the eyes of public? No. You’ve just
renounced that by admitting to pretend to
play a tool. Security? No. You are in the
most secure position considered because
you are the synonym for threat (although
you’d better be aware that those who live
by the sword…). Wealth? No. You’ve seen
too many wealthy men falling because of
what it made them, sometimes even fallen
by your hand. Freedom? You don’t deal in
abstract constructs and especially this one
would be quite difficult to define,
although, like everybody else, you have
your opinion. Peace?
Does it make you uneasy?
Does it pose any threat?
You know we are right here
So break no sweat
All the weight on your shoulders
You define what is good
Would your enemies hear you?
We’ll make sure that they would
And when you speak your mind
All in your name
We run we search we find
Glory and shame
No witness, sound of a shot in the dark
No witness, some heard a shot
The watchdogs, we only bite, don’t bark
The watchdogs, we only bite
We were here when it started
We're still here round the clock
And we’ll be always here
There's always need
All the sheep need a shepherd
All the shepherds need dogs
And when you speak your mind
On your account
We run we search we find
Your trusted hounds
No witness, sound of a shot in the dark
No witness, some heard a shot
The watchdogs, we only bite, don’t bark
The watchdogs, we only bite
You’ll never know our names
Not that you ever asked or cared
As long as in your games
We’re on your side
But once our day will come
We’ve served without regret or grudge
But any servitude
Must once end
No witness, sound of a shot in the dark
No witness, some heard a shot
The watchdogs, we only bite, don’t bark
The watchdogs, we only bite
But once our day will come
We’ve served without regret or grudge
But any servitude
Must once end
And when the day is here
Our payment we will come to claim
And we may disappear
…or we may stay