🎵 “Timelessness” — Lalu Metev
Final Vocal‑Optimized Ritual Version
(много по‑пееща, по‑ритуална, с ясни фрази и хорови възможности)

Verse I — Heavy Days (slow, breathy, low)
In the thickened breath of daylight,
where the words have lost their skin,
shadows move without a memory —
rootless souls, without a name within.

They cling to all that once was sacred,
dust on frames that fade away.
Not from reverence,
but hunger for another’s light to claim.

(low male hum: “oh‑oh‑oh…”)

Verse II — The Fall (whisper‑female echoes)
I see people selling cheaply
both their truth and all they know.
I see honesty turned currency —
a coin that spins in the dark below.

And while it stands before our faces,
we pretend it’s gone from sight.
When something dies, we breathe so lightly —
as if we dropped a stone of spite.

(whispers: “gone… lightly… stone…”)

Chorus — Timelessness (full choir, slow, heavy, rising)
And so we stand —
in timelessness, thick and clinging,
in a world that never moves,
yet pretends that it is running.

And so we hush —
in a state that breathes in rent,
where corruption is simply
the other name for order.

If we never speak,
who will hear us.
If we never move,
who will lead us forward.

(choir swell: “timelessness… order… forward…”)

Verse III — The Mirror (deep, chant‑like)
Here the law protects no borders —
only access to goodwill.
Here the power never changes —
only hands that hold it will.

And every silence has a price tag,
paid in quiet loyalty.
This is not a contract —
it’s a bloodstream running free.

(male chant: “loyalty… silence… blood…”)

Bridge — Collapse (spoken‑chant, ritual, echoing)
I do not ask who’s guilty —
I ask what we have built.
I do not ask who’s stealing —
I ask why it can happen.
I do not ask where the state is —
I ask if it ever lived at all.

(dissonant choir cluster rising like a storm)

Final Chorus — The Spark (solo + luminous choir)
And if corruption is a way of breathing,
how do we stop the air.
And if timelessness has become our dwelling,
how do we find a door.

But in the dark there is a spark —
small, but real.
And if we guard it,
maybe we begin again.

(choir: “begin again… begin again…”)

Lalu Metev, January 23, 2026.

I begin in the threshold where a word is not yet born and silence still remembers its breath. I write to shape what insists on being carried forward — not as ornament, but as revealed truth. My practice moves like inner weather: shifts of memory, tenderness, and the questions that refuse to leave us. Genres are rooms of one house — poems, essays, fragments, genealogies, musical sketches — each a voice in a single resonant chord. Even silence has its essential place in that chord. I attend to the small gestures that disclose identity; to the secret bridges between private life and collective memory; to the quiet architecture of the spirit that needs no ceremony. My aim is language that opens rather than decorates — windows through which readers encounter their own inner sky. Form, conscience and intimacy guide me: introspection keeps me honest; conceptual shape grants the invisible weight; moral sensibility anchors each phrase. My professions — poet, publicist, jurist — lean together: law sharpens clarity, poetry humbles certainty, philosophy teaches listening to what is unsaid. If a single thread unites my work, it is this: to transmute vulnerability into luminous strength and to make silence a place of meaning. I am Lalu Metev — Bulgarian poet, essayist and jurist. I write to preserve what is delicate and essential in the human spirit, to follow traces of memory and dignity, and to find where the personal meets the universal. This is the path I walk; this is the voice I follow; this is the presence I offer.