20th of July

Lit ablaze, 
on commutes, when it rains, 
under trees offering shade, 
as mandate that governed the human race.
Past the veil of all regal restraints, 
and secrecy, and exclusivity, 
amongst the feeble and untrained,
or so they appeared to the eye;
distinction, of class, and race, 
different pursuits, means to survive,
“together we thrive!”
Past nausea, past detention, 
a leap towards the horizon
where tears are shed
and my words become blatant;
glistening with light, 
and surrendering to the wind
as they depart from eyes.

I saw the gathering, and the fable, 
I wept.
What caused such commotion?
Which affairs were mine, which ones were kept?
Which side surrendered first, 
gave in for the grave path ahead, 
and bid itself off to a claim fraught with faith?
What was a legacy worth if there was no succession to speak of?
Where were all those disciplines once so strong and absolute?
What was the worth of an innate mediator,
when no company remained in the end?
Who was I taking along?

The voices of youth never came to subside,
 they were swept away
into remote recesses in the head instead.
The message remained nonetheless, 
will demanded change, 
it was already a new day.
The conflict was now of notoriety and shame:
the Blackstar had come to fade, 
a decade in due acknowledgement, 
I had come to take its place.

“Do I sleep now?”
“Mother, can I go?”
“They aren’t going to hit me, are they?”
“What am I fighting for?”
“Should I just stay awake instead?”
“...but there’s so much anger in my eyes, a burst of rage!”
“Ma, am I just a slave?”

“Did the haze clear up at last?
Did I speak all the words I wanted to say?”

Defeated, sick, and tired, 
in bed, a late night hour.
“a life, now.”
But sleepless all the while, 
a new dawn, 
this was a special one,
this is where my beliefs would flourish, 
everyone is waiting for me,
“am I just another soldier?”
I’m not.
Without power, a ghost in the air,
a menace that gets through the day,
quiet and indistinct, 
starving and piercing stare, 
neck bruised, hands captive, 
uneven steps, a scar on the head,
and on the face, 
and an act on the way, 
in hopes to cheer up the crowd;
I returned home with a frown.

I go downstream with the water,
snow as it melts, and further,
immersed in chemical waste
in the lower plains,
to the sea at last,
this is where I drown 
and call it home at last.

“Some day, I’ll emerge victorious, a star.”