Am I deadwood gathering mould in a forest
where it never rains, but is still damp and musty?
Do I feel the circle of cells in my trunk
collapse in lightless existence rung after rung
and reduce me to a stump? Am I not coherent to any design?
It may seem to many that I let go off myself…
that I committed travesty on myself for not
respecting my own aspiration…and would
you fathom the race was never run; that what
I could have attained, was taken by all strangers on the podiums!
Yes, I insist, the sky did fall on my head with invisible laurels!
Yet, I just wouldn’t want to embarrass myself by
informing you that I was, in fact, on the podium
of the global philharmonic orchestrated symphony! You think
a victim has so much strength, and not discouraged by pogroms,
that he causes all the violence from his violin and invalidates his frustration
only to make the villains furious with frustration. And would you think
the serpents got me beat, from trying to get under
my skin and into my hair! Oh! Do you ever think
that I lived to reject everything I love, and never did fight for it!
Did you proclaim your material achievements, and
discount mine as nondescript. And you all have me
laughing my guts out, with your notion that I was a Tom Fool
for rejecting all treachery’s arrangements and offerings,
and deeming them my non-est factum!
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