To make a myth is to console oneself
For blank indifference. Astrologers
Commit the stars to paltry human lives
In theory at least. Men of science
Dress up their myths as concepts,
But myths they will remain, and why not,
If they provide some balm to pride
That cannot stand the cosmic unconcern?
I have discarded myths and the shadow
Consolation they afford, but there's one
Myth that will not leave me - of myself
As one assailed by a hostile pack of cards
Which have involved me in their blood-feud.
Can I wake up and swipe them all away
Like autumn leaves? The isolating ego
Will not be brushed aside, that myth-begotten myth.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Dress up their myths as concepts, But myths they will remain, and why not, If they provide some balm to pride That cannot stand the cosmic unconcern? very good poem indeed. tony