If my words could hang on a
clotheshorse, then, what would
my poetry be? Would it be an ode
to the sterile laundromat or a
lyric to dirty linen? I don’t even
wash my hands regularly (too often); I think it is
the guilty, who indulge in that pastime!
I, sometimes, feel like a beast bestowed
with belligerence. You know when too
much injustice is done to you, you have
reason to go insane with hatred. But unlikely to me.
For, I am mostly calm and composed!
Poetry can reflect your moods, even if you
seek to hide behind the bland aphorisms. Even
the silence of your words becomes an onomatopia,
giving off sound. You know, you may
not rasp in alliterations or repetitions, but an
eagle-eyed reader may just as well capture
your hidden disdain and ire. I am definitely
not a cardboard cutout. There is astuteness
in being brave as much as restraint. Your
saintly monikers don’t fall like halos around the
heads of the brave. The real martyrdom has
gone in vain, but should it pick up the loose strands
in another age? Murderers have walked out
of courtrooms, untainted; victims have been
imprisoned and punished! I can even tell you
that even the good-intentioned mighty fear too much;
The remainder of those in power are just
making a hypocrisy out of professed goodness!
All the more acquisition of power is a manifestation
of fear! In any case, the psychopath cries often and
the loudest; for, he wants to drown out his blame!
Who is truly sorry for his crimes; only the one who
is apprehended? I have been twice put unjustly in
a madhouse(!), You think those that wanted my
camraderie, didn’t feel like wanting to punish me
for my rejecting them? I didn’t blame anyone! But how
does the system seem motley when manipulated
to their own advantage by those in power? I swear (!),
I’ll never be reduced to a shadow of myself, despite
all the wicked self-seeking shadow play of vested interests!!!
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