She came with empty hands,
Without a gift but, with curious eyes,
To watch the unfolding of a great potential.
She followed the roads not taken,
Since Zarathustra’s days.
She climbed into the tallest tree,
And, would have chosen to hammer gold,
Into the likeness of gods,
She found the circus was still playing.
Dare devils chasing fame on a tightrope,
The audience eagerly following the trapeze artist,
Swinging from one illusion to the next,
Always with better lights, more sequins,
New and improved.
Everyone wishing they could be so high.
The magician pickpockets, with a disappearing act,
Worked the crowd,
Composed of slaves and cowards,
Because all the free and the brave,
Had been shipped out to the front,
To fight for the Robber Barons and the Banksters.
But, the clowns kept everyone laughing,
So, no one had time to think.
In town all the unemployed were playing dominoes,
While those with jobs played politics.
The cities were full of citizens and civilization,
Boundaries and limitations,
Order and disorder, discord and illusions.
Overflowing with immigrants,
Kept under control,
With licenses, trade agreements, taxes and jails,
Or, not kept under control at all.
In the capital, everyone playing democracy,
And, lining their pockets as quick as can be,
Because, you never know when the music will stop.
The LGBT have escaped from the closet and stolen the rainbow.
The wavering, nihilistic phantoms are engulfed in their own pity,
Waving their handkerchiefs,
But, at a loss of what to do.
They have nothing to say.
The fight has moved from survival to control.
It has gone from hand-in-hand to every-man-for-himself.
Unerring instincts giving way to words which turn to lies.
What man can understand himself with words,
When we are all propelled by the ebb and flow of wild emotions,
And, our dark and deep desires remain submerged?
Yet, by them we are urged.
Nothing has changed,
Except the cast and the complications.
We will act the same.
No cosmic awakening,
Fukushima shuddering realization.
V. Castellanos – November 2014