That Feeling Of Self-Importance Poem by RIC BASTASA

indeed sir you are a figure to watch
as you enter the room
a strange air diffuses from the pores of your skin
perfumed with power and glossy with privileges
the gods of fortune have given you more than what
most of us could have deserved
after all those distasteful years of
sisyphus
how we pulled the stone on top
and how it was rolled over and over again and we
ordinary mortals picked it up
over and over again

we do not laugh at ourselves to our generous endeavors
we all tried to please the gods
yet our offerings are always inferior to yours sir

nature has treated you special and we do not wonder why sir
your name is engraved in marble and the letters are made of gold
your genealogy matters most
your roots they preserved with utmost concern
you descended from kings
you ascended as the rightful king to the throne reserved for you

and so this morning as you enter the room
you slid your finger to us dusts of the cabinet and you signified
we deserved to be blown away just like that

you signaled to the guards
we do not deserve to sit on chairs because the floors are ours

the air is dense and your pride made it humid
i am fed up and i rise from my coyness and decided to leave

i am weary of pretenses. i am tired of my silence.
i have wings. i belong to the birds. And now it is my time to fly away.

in our world of wings, we do not keep air, we give them all away.
we are so light, and we fly to our kind of height. we are always alone.