«One does not become enlightened by
imagining figures of light,
but by making the darkness conscious.»
On the golden throne of skulls
In the glass house of our dreams
Sits the one who rules it all
Oblivious, denied, forgotten
Self-appointed king
Hollow gaze of his tired eyes
Focused, on the mirrors on the walls
Drowning in reflections' endless maze
Restless, always searching for the I
Through the dusty libraries
Of ancestral wisdom
Through the riddles
Of suspected thruths
Diving
Into the black and back again
With hope there is no hope
Into the light to see there is none
No concession
Not a single spark to be found
«Who looks outside, dreams;
Who looks inside, awakes.»
Let him cry out loud in despair
Let him dance to his own requiem
Let the bow slit his wrists
As the violin weeps
Misguided by the ego’s treacherous call
Lost in the labyrinth of countless reveals
Rebutting themselves one after another
Disguided as promises of enlightenment
All I saw was nothing but madness
All we shall see is nothing but darkness
All we shall leave is nothing but failures
All we shall gain is nothing but faceless
For no ocean of stars awaits
Nor the womb of newborn possibilities
But the shattering mirror itself
Obscure void of misguided thoughts
When darkness is conscious
All horrors end
No figures of light
When mirrors shatter