If you sit on my throne and rule, believe it or not,
you’ll see in the Yard corrupt guys, harlots, magicians,
a river of blood for sacrifices, wars, arenas; you’ll see
usurers to flay you - and after you the poor people-
you’ll see bodies destined for orgies and graveyards.
Do not say – as I did naively– ‘it happens in this world’,
Furies are furious, may condemn us all: “Shame on you
people of Argos, you ugly sign and load on the earth.”
I’m Marcus Aurelius and philosophize on all of my self:
bodies are for decay, decomposition, life is a single drop,
my soul is a whirlwind, a steam, destiny resembles air,
essence and caress are absent, the fame goes to oblivion.
But if you reign in a wise mode, without betraying,
if you push away from you the delight, the insult, the lie,
you construct a foundation, a strong win over sufferings.
Then accept the plague, as I do, in a stoic sense;
do interpret: the fall as apple, the pigeon as Peace.
© JosephJosephides
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem