David A. Marin
Imperialism, they say.
He welcomed the dominion with
a handshake sparking silver and
a smile trembling embers.
He shook the hand of the invader
and the emperor - new patron
patroned him over those who
patronized him before
and he contemplated this revenge
asking if he was cast so high
to be cast down,
to obsess over this victory,
to do great things
to loom,
to be a tyrant,
or to do great things.
He writes in the tongue of his enemy
he writes in the tongue of the invader
but he does it better than the invader
perhaps not better - but making it his own
He is the Dacian who wrote Roman poetry
He is the splendid singing sinner summing so-called
strangers into such serene siblings.
He aspires to be that.
Great things, miracles of art,
thinks the poet and the bard,
now a Lord upon the land,
with a flag upon his tent
one day to be cast down
for all flags to stride along
the idiots might hate him now
for letting the enemy inside
but the enemy is not one flag
as much as all of them
can be
when they are all that is left.
Alas…
Great things, he thinks and makes
As some throw oranges and peels
And others love and admiration
Such is the way of the artist
The time is such that the artist
must also be a politician
it is again a time of courts and kings
Great things, he thinks and makes
He knows one day
Above the flag shall be the one
who used to hold it
Above the flag shall be the name
of those who live for The Everything
and who have their own Something.
----------------------------------
All material on this blog is protected by copyright laws. Use of any kind without the author's approval is illegal.
Niciun comentariu:
Trimiteți un comentariu