The Road to Beauty Is a Road You Walk Alone

The road to beauty is a road you walk alone. Walking it, you never take your eyes off a point On the event horizon of the daily murk. The third eye's opened — and it's scary as hell. The grace and fineness of all the interconnections Draws you in like wisdom in Arabic script. From outside — a jumble of cryptic scribbles. Add a grain of knowledge — and it's already beautiful. This refined pattern is unusually complex. No wonder it's like that, risen like a fence, To keep away every idle passer-by, And there's no way to clothe all these signs in knowledge. The untrained eye is stunned to a standstill, And an unready mind will get nothing out of it. But there's no room at all for excess here. There's so much of everything — open the gate! A stream of the unknown will settle in a heavy layer And wait a long time, often an eyesore. And yet, sooner or later, It'll punch the window of the soul with a mighty fist. And the glass — to smithereens. Through the broken frames, Like rats from a ship, the sick traumas will bolt. Slitting their bellies on the jutting shards, They'll croak, slowly but surely. Oh, poor things… From now on, the heavy burden of beauty's knowledge Even the inner horse won't feel as a yoke. The road to beauty is empty when you're alone. We're all on the way. And there's no turning back.