641
I'm alive and that's certainly
< Felix Komarov
I'm alive and that's undoubtedly.
But who am I, who is alive?
And I can not escape from,
Separating himself from captivity.
I am the stone that crushed the mountain.
I live for millions of years.
And waiting for a red-hot lavy-
I'm in it to swim away freedom.
I have a tree - the inheritance of my
is heavy. Confined to his woods.
Only the wind will tell me a story
And the bird will brighten up my prison.
I'm waiting for fires, floods ...
Let the sky or ocean,
Shall fall hopes and doubts
And the captivity result in deception.
I'm an animal - free in his movements,
But the pain and the cold, death, and fear
Remains weak and hungry,
I will keep on chains.
I howl with anguish slurred.
And torn up my hoarse howl.
Prison terrible to me a hundred times,
What was recognized himself.
I'm a man, I read the Gita,
I think I have the body of a prison ...
I want to be a consciousness spilled
And be free itself.
I look at a tree, a rock ...
And seeing birds eye,
I kindle the flame of sorrow,
Before their freedom crashing down.
Freedom, captured, emptiness form ...
I know a lot of words of wisdom ...
Yet, only one thing is certain -
I live - and it is the essence of the shackles.
I'm alive and that's undoubtedly.
But who am I, who is alive?
And I can not escape from,
Separating himself from captivity.
I am the stone that crushed the mountain.
I live for millions of years.
And waiting for a red-hot lavy-
I'm in it to swim away freedom.
I have a tree - the inheritance of my
is heavy. Confined to his woods.
Only the wind will tell me a story
And the bird will brighten up my prison.
I'm waiting for fires, floods ...
Let the sky or ocean,
Shall fall hopes and doubts
And the captivity result in deception.
I'm an animal - free in his movements,
But the pain and the cold, death, and fear
Remains weak and hungry,
I will keep on chains.
I howl with anguish slurred.
And torn up my hoarse howl.
Prison terrible to me a hundred times,
What was recognized himself.
I'm a man, I read the Gita,
I think I have the body of a prison ...
I want to be a consciousness spilled
And be free itself.
I look at a tree, a rock ...
And seeing birds eye,
I kindle the flame of sorrow,
Before their freedom crashing down.
Freedom, captured, emptiness form ...
I know a lot of words of wisdom ...
Yet, only one thing is certain -
I live - and it is the essence of the shackles.