Where in this world
Of baffled faces; pouring oil in eyes to alight a change
Must I a man of hollow cast
Should await;
To remain unchanged
For unlike Othello I listen
To old monks murmuring beyond the riverbank
Their hands joined to a common flame
And blind eyes closed to light
So all could see the same
But my hands are not stained with grease
Nor my feet grown in the shape of keys
For doors yonder where the sunlight’s thick
And a greener pasture the old monks seek
I am here amidst the fallen hands
In its wilderness once termed divine
What thought a meager man could grate
That an oracle wouldn’t deem a sign
Of a tragedy of our own device
Build by fallen hands, without a voice
To be interred cold beneath a veil
This seminal thought, that none may feel
Where in this world
Of baffled faces; pouring oil in eyes to alight a change
Must I a man of hollow cast
Should await;
To remain unchanged
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