Sillage

I wake up and get ready for another day,

Trying to let my soul find the desired way,

I look at myself now and ask," Who are you?"

Someone from the dark watches me out of the blue.

I walk outside to find a world made of the crowd,

Where everyone remains bizarre yet feels proud,

I see people around me laughing and talking,

To me, they seem to rush through their walking,

Sometimes they remind me of a part of my past,

Which I always learned would never last,

When I smile and accept this as a sillage,

I find myself being haunted by an image.

I see a child believing in unearthly miracles,

I see victories draped in the mist that is empirical,

I see dreams paving their way into her heart,

To me, they seem to redirect a wishful start.

Sometimes they remind me of a part of my past,

Which I always learned would never last,

When I smile and accept this as a sillage,

I find myself being haunted by an image.

I see a girl living in the world with innocence,

With friends, joys, love marking their presence,

I hear denials, betrayals, lies in cacophony,

To me, they sound like a distant euphony.

Sometimes they remind me of a part of my past,

Which I always learned would never last,

When I smile and accept this as a sillage,

I find myself being haunted by an image.

I see companions masked to hide a demon,

I see conspiracies executed by freemen,

I witness defeats meant to kill the spirit,

To me, they become stubborn merit.

Sometimes they remind me of a part of my past,

Which I always learned would never last,

When I smile and accept this as a sillage,

I find myself being haunted by an image.

I write words, draw unseen pictures,

I visit places, sing of caricatures,

I feel worn out yet alive from the inside,

To me, they resonate where dreams reside.

Sometimes they remind me of a part of my past,

Which I always learned would never last,

When I smile and accept this as a sillage,

I find myself being haunted by an image.

I remember the unanswered questions,

I remember the unquestioned answers,

The silent razbliuto of a warrior that I have been,

To me, it seems more like a tacenda once seen.

Sometimes they remind me of a part of my past,

Which I always learned would never last,

When I smile and accept this as a sillage,

I find myself being haunted by an image.

I feel heavy with memories, desires, and fears,

I realize that I have been strong enough these years,

I look at myself now and ask," Who are you?"

Someone from the dark watches me out of the blue.

I try to figure out who it is and call out again,

My words seem to echo in the dark all in vain,

I can hear myself asking the same over and over,

I seek answers myself all this time together.

As I cannot handle the echoes anymore,

I answer myself by narrating from the core,

The moments I lived, the stories I shared,

The wounds, joys, memories, autumns for which I cared.

The echo no longer seems to haunt the darkness,

Instead, I see myself coming out in brightness,

I look at myself now and ask, "Who are you?"

I see myself watching me out of the blue.

The silence is broken as I hear myself say,

"If what defines you is only the story on your way,

Through what you've lived, and who you've been,

What would you answer for what is not yet seen?"

I find an answer to the question "Who are you?",

Beyond those stories what remains of me anew,

I now smile and accept this as a sillage,

No longer do I find myself being haunted by an image.