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| 172 Pages ISBN 978-86-83691-28-9 |
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ON CAUSE AND SENSE
(1996-2002)
To be a poet, you must be slightly naive as well,though this naivety is not the naivety that talks,but one that silently leads us into a world of purity and innocence without words.If not, it is merely a falsehood, which is recognised fairly easily.
Holding space in one hand, and time in the other, a mage easily gets lost within the theme the philosopher is trying to comprehend, waiting for the wise man who will know how to set lost time from the previous theme on the right path, holding it by the hand.
Love is the path,
truth is the goal,
and what we gain
is space or
FREEDOM.
*
This is a book about NOTHING
A book for everybody and “nobody!”.
A verification of the system of values
And all its informers.
*
ABSURDITY is the key to it all,
at the end of which
are we.
This is the point where absurdity
gains its own sense,
and we get the key.
*
What is this NOTHING?
It is Nothing that I talk about
… and if by chance you are
interested in this NOTHING,
then there is nothing.
Stronger than this
– is already something.
*
… said: “IT’S TOO DARK”
And what do you know about light?!
Light is the blade of darkness,
and few are those who get across,
without being cut – that’s why many people bleed.
I know the taste of your blood
– the taste of the severed rose:
who threatened the night, taking vengeance against the dark:
gathering it into a dew drop in the morning sun
– on a rose’s thorn.
This is my tear.
This is my dream.
*
EPITAPH
This is addressed to you
great star in the name of love
be the one to take care of me
– make love immortal
and death ephemeral.
*
THE MONOLITH
All the signs of the past night
have vanished without a trace,
and the morning keenly tries
to get hold of the day –
attempting to find a sign of her.
The red sunset
made it clear
that the night has killed the day,
and is now trying
to hide herself in darkness.
*
THE CASTLE
Once there was a castle
almost deserted.
And in it lived:
a rain-soaked half-plucked hen,
who had just escaped from the claws
of some enormous beast –
and was expected
to lay the sun.
This hen was called – Will.
There was also a king–
like a pulsation of empty space:
him I dubbed
Mind or Thought.
As is appropriate for king and castle,
there was also the inevitable court jester – the fool:
whom I named – Hope.
If Will is the redeemer and bringer of joy,
and in her each act there lies a commanding thought
(in this case it is this king from this castle),
then by all means one should not believe that it is
possible to separate
this thought from desiring – so in this case, in order for
the Will not to become utterly worn out:
the king had to help this unfortunate hen
so all of them could survive.
I speak of Hope as a court jester: for I know
that moderate scepticism keeps the Mind perpetually
awake,
as faith dies in the dream she has woven herself;
thus giving birth to Hope in henlike blindness – owing
to the fool,
who last night said that the sun is being born
somewhere else,
which the hen did not believe and thus spent the night
waiting.
In the morning when the sun came up – the hen became
blind,
and the king was about to leave the castle,
for he was haunted by strange spirits throughout the
entire night,
and so the fool, in order to set the king’s mind at ease
(since we know the fool is at times wiser than the king)
– told him a story, and it goes:
There!
It is nothing
that I talk about
and if by chance you are interested in this nothing
then there is nothing –
stronger than this
is already something.