Zum ruhigen Regen

Durch die Stille Nacht, während die Straße schläft,
Regnest du, schön und rein,
Gucke ich, schlaflos und allein,
Ahnungslos dass jemand dich sieht,

Ich wende mich, um jemandem zu zeigen,
Aber es gibt keinen,
Also sehe ich nach, Still und in Ruhe,
Wie Zeit steht diesem Moment,

Ah, ich will deine Schöne zu jemand sagen,
Aber auch will ich in diesem Moment bleiben,
Deshalb stehe ich in lauter Ruhe,
Uns spreche leichte Wörte binnen meine Seele,

Mein Gerät kann diese Moment nicht speichern,
Es sagt dass es ist zu dunkel, zu grau,
Aber ich sehe dass zu perfekt bist,
Also fange ich dich im meiner Herz ein,

Oh warum tanzt zu wenn niemand sieht?
Auf einer leeren Straße und in meinem Kopf,
Wenn nur meinen Herzschlag spielt,
Als Musik für dich,

Oh Leute tanzen mehr wenn Musik spielt,
Hier schlägt mein Herz schneller wegen deines Tanz(es),
Und du füllst meine Seele bis zum Rand,
Und regnest noch mehr,

Wie leicht sind deine Tropfen?
Weil ich höre nicht wenn sie unten fallen,
Habe ich etwas gehört?
Nein, jetzt mein Herz dir gehört,

Ich merke jetzt warum du nur mit mir triffst,
Und lässt deine Tropfen fallen so leicht,
Wenn ich mit Kuli meine Gefühl schreibe,
Weil ich halte sie wie sonst kein Gerät kann,

Meine Augen schließen langsam jetzt,
Und ich kann deine Schönheit nicht mehr sehen,
Und Zeit steht aus von ihrer Schlaf,
Und schlafe ich langsam ein,

Bevor wir uns Abschied nehmen,
Ich will zu dir etwas sagen,
Danke, danke und vielen Dank,
Weil ich vergessen habe mein Leid und krank.

Eine vergebliche Suche

Ich kann nach keinem Lehrer gehen,
Und kann nur zu Hause bleiben,
Wo ich warte und warte und viel mehr warte,
Wie ich meinem ganzen Leben gewartet habe,

Sie sagen dass ich muss Gott in meiner Seele suchen,

Dass ich muss ihn in meiner Seele schauen,

Ich las viel Buecher aber höre ihn nicht,

Ich suchte auch viel aber sehe ihn nicht,

In dem hinten von der Dunkelheit sagt uns einer,

In unserem Gefuehl von 'ich' sagt noch einer,

Wenn du armen hilfst sagen andere,

Und wenn du ihn rufst sagen noch andere,

Er wird nicht gesehen, sagen viele,

Dass man kann ihn nur fühlen, sagen diese,

Aber jeden Tag wenn ich schließe meinem Augen mit viel Hoffnung,

Sehe ich nur Dunkelheit in mir und sehe noch nichts,

Wenn ich suche ihn in meinen Gefuehlen,

Fuehle ich nur die Tropfen die fallen von meinen Augen.

The Voice Within

Woken, from oblivion, with a racing heart,

By a voice, subtle, that speaks from within,

He rises, squinting his heavy eyes,

And strains his ears to hear,

He struggles to hear what it means to say,

For he has no choice but to hear it,

Inescapable is that which the soul speaks,

For it speaks from behind the ears that one can shut,

And so he defers to this call, this incessant speech,

Shutting himself from all else,

And the voice of the others grow dim and soft,

As he slips further within, in his hunt for this,

He finds it's the voice of his heart's desires,

Such desires that feel so pure, so real,

Desires, inescapable, that only grow stronger,

Desires that promise to become firm purpose,

The kind of purpose that life must hold on, to live,

Purpose that moulds, that shapes that life itself,

Thus drawn, he listens with all his heart,

To the intimate sounds of its own beats,

Kept awake by this loud whisper,

His eyes stay wide open behind closed sheets,

Dreaming bright colours, blind to the dark,

While this voice, now clear, begins to sing,

It's a moment of pride, of triumph, a win,

When he finally hears all that it says,

For his pursuit, his dive, his long conquest,

Has finally ended, yielding its fruits,

Knowing he's listening, the voice speaks more,

Decorating, flowery his once vague, wordless wish,

Ah, it's a sight to see him thus,

Rapt, like the man, looking, dazed, into his lover's eyes,

It's a pride to see a man win thus,

Losing himself in the search for his soul,

Nay he's not lost, for he's found himself,

The one who hears, clear, this voice,

Or so they say, who haven't known truth,

And who haven't heard a sound within,

It's strange how a win blinds one,

Like when a thought is spoken, another, within, dies,

For it's hard to believe that a search for one's soul,

Has ended forever, with the sound of a voice,

For, no matter what it means to say,

It's still a mere expression of a mouth not seen,

Despite being intelligent, deep and aligned,

And aware of what he truly wants,

It's a pity he sees now,

Merely a voice, albeit within,

He stops when he's heard the words in its voice,

And doesn't seek to find the source of its sound,

Perhaps he's tired, for he's searched for so long,

And chooses to stop, when he's found a little gold,

Ah, they say it's truth, the voice of the soul,

But is that all that comes from the chambers of the heart,

And if one must judge and measure even words from within,

How deep could truth, really be hidden?

Why does Nature seek to have its way,

By hiding a man's soul, deep,

Behind desire that takes so long to find,

And forsaking him on an eternal search for it,

And as per its ruthless ploy, he searches,

In the desperate hope to quench his dissatisfaction,

And, digging, deep enough to find desire, mistaking it for himself,

He feels it's his own, like the rest of his herd,

Vowing to obey, to fulfil its whim,

Oh, how can a voice, be it without or within,

Be yours, my friend, unless you choose its words?

Tricked thus, by the Father who hides,

Within the soul whence speaks this tongue,

He walks, naive, to do its bidding,

Claiming to act out of free will, independent,

And so he nods his head in rhythm with this song,

Humming along, now and then,

And as it grows louder within,

He dances, in a trance, to its compelling tunes,

He waltzes in circles, but spirals in,

Drawn to the centre of a field unknown,

Bereft of reason that he once prized,

Defending, somehow, this new trend,

He nods, in a trance, to the whims of this voice,

Cheered by a crowd that once reasoned with him,

They all rejoice, imploring that he speak his mind,

Twisting lines from the wise, the fools, even his own,

Aah, it's strange, this world of ours,

That fights for bread on hungry nights,

Speaks words of reason to earn nods,

And feigns logic when their bellies are full,

And now, when a thirst rises, of a different kind,

Logic dissolves in hungry preference,

And he moves, swift and quiet, fuelled by intent,

Lest reason or society attempt to foil his ploy,

Propelled by this desire placed by an unknown hand,

In the innermost chambers of his soul,

He's stirred into action to fulfill the quest,

Like all the others, to find peace,

It's strange to see how the momentum within,

Defies, easily, the science without,

With inspiration building from within one,

Sans the need for another's hand,

Know, my friend, that behind this voice,

Could lie, your soul, untouched and pure,

Who knows, there's more perhaps, hidden beneath,

The depth that's soaked in darkness sans light,

Like life, I'm sure, there's both brightness and dark,

Treasures, hidden, alongside horrors,

Doors that, when opened, could change who you seem,

And somewhere there, your soul too,

Know my friend, like you know of the world,

The good and the bad that the depth within, holds,

Know to dig deep to know true joy,

But know ye more, to stop,

At the level of depth that grants you peace.