They say for your action, be prepared for a counteraction.
Good and bad, either or both will come to pass.
But what if the action is not of my doing, should I still be a recipient of the aftermath?
Is the price to be paid lenient or is it as merciless as it could have been if I were the doer?
Planted was my seed, I grew into being.
Helpless at a certain stage, vulnerable was my state.
Mysterious is the world, susceptible was my situation.
Full blown at last, mystique my middle name.
They know not about mystery, a foreign thing they think.
It's not our culture, they say, it has never been in our bloodline.
So they understand me not and their aura contaminates mine.
And so I walk by believing I'm an abomination.
But the more the belief, the more I'm wasting my potential.
It has always been, but not the only way to be.
Predictable your result, though the start is not where you're at.
Unwonted is my being, some card I did not pick but inevitably received.
If you are normally abnormal to me, then I might as well be abnormally normal to you.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem