In my search for beauty
I painted this picture of the perfect Other.
I painstakingly sketched.
I added detail, form, light and color.
Over the years I chiseled my Pygmalion.
I wrote the gentleman of Shaw’s Fair Dame.
I gave him ideology and compassion.
I gave him qualifications that would gain him fame.
I placed him on a pedestal of altitude
That no human could possibly attain.
His moral standards I set at a level
That only legendary Knights could maintain.
In my memory I stored my colossus
And let the dust of busy everyday life accumulate.
At the dawn of a sleepless night, I’d clear the dust
And make sure He was immaculate.
Then out of a fairytale dream
My Pygmalion came to life.
I clung on to him
Hoping he’d see me through struggle and strife.
In my mind’s eye he was perfect.
He was the Other, a human free of every fault.
But in my blind quest for beauty
He became a spider and in his web I was caught.
In my struggle for freedom
The lessons of literature I did recall
But from his pedestal
I could not let him fall.
He lashed out, hurt and injured
Scars of his cruelty were everywhere.
But arrogantly He stood above judgment
Only because I had put him there.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem