Maybe, just maybe, everything happens as it must
Who is to know
If by random selection
Or by a plan hatched to perfection
Am I writing, compelled by cause and effect
Or by irrational mental defect
It’s easy to imagine:
The good things in life can get even better
And the disasters getting ever worse
History as platitude:
Things done cannot be undone
The murderer cannot bring his victims back
Peace is not the end of violence
Power is his aphrodisiac
Grinding away at daily life
Maybe, just maybe, it’s all good
When we look the other way
Only to complain about the price of transport
To planets and stars unknown
Slaves to popular culture and news about democracy
Checking the bank balance
Paying off the loan
Shopping for the day
Working for the benefit and pension
Only to die by the dice of a cruel fate
Maybe, just maybe, it’s all bad
I read about Flaubert
Advised by his literary friends to write Mme Bovary
Translated into English by Tussy Marx
Herself forced to commit suicide
Maybe it’s not worth to have a name in Elysium
Repeating history ad nauseam
Voyeurs regaling in another’s Les Misérables
Falling in love with French and German revolutionaries
Confronted with an impossible dream
Ending up a poor imitation of Narcissus
Being read, perforce, by students learning nothing
Maybe, or quite possibly, I just don’t get it
So, tell me what to write instead!
No comments:
Post a Comment