What If It Is Real?
Last night, I stood in a
Fragment of intent. A voice asked
"Head or tail?"; and offered to drink
Luke-warm tears of a young man;
Then pretended to mangle the head
Of an old woman in a frozen tomb. I was reticent
First, then guessed that this was a dream-
A harbinger of self-loathing. So I clung
to my confession
All the witnesses got up and
Left me in confusion. "Tail," I shouted.
Memories came flooding from ages long gone by.
"Your life is warped and overworn," the voice declared,
"You'll be
Exiled to mute echoes, unfrequented
Even with sleep."
I wanted to tell the story that repeats,
Without a respite
All seemed random, piled on my rehearsed crimes.
The voice drowned all other thoughts: "This is the day that
You'll have
No remorse, but a lot of fear and despair;
Your wrongs are vague so too will your punishment: Not
wearing
The mask of guilt."
