Painting by Joanna Sierko-Filipowska
They had reduced him to percentage points:
his uniqueness didn't come out.
He had learnt obedience and control very well
and for the rest of his life.
Some would say he was a good citizen,
a man who succeeded in breaking out the economic class system.
Sometimes alone at home,
he looks back and thinks about people and the narrow ends.
What was written upon him?
What did he leave behind?
A dreamer sleeps in his acidic eyes,
a poet was entangled in his trembling hands.
He still kept his old poems with strange care.
Life had strayed like a lost suitcase in an airport
What was his destination?Nowhere.
How many things do we have to forget to become
who we are?
How many times do we have to survive ourselves?
What is the real price paid to be respectable
but unhappy?
Karla Bardanza
Copyright©Karla Bardanza 2012
"How many things do we have to forget to become who we are?"
ReplyDeleteI find these words very powerful Flower... A great write. tc