I think I am a ghost;
my disposition, the whole of my being
churns up this claim
like an earth troubled by a plow,
my disposition, the whole of my being
churns up this claim
like an earth troubled by a plow,
For alone in the void,
attended by birds’ chirps and plants’ rustlings,
I mine greater warmth in my company
than in a gathering of laughter,
of warmth and brotherhood.
attended by birds’ chirps and plants’ rustlings,
I mine greater warmth in my company
than in a gathering of laughter,
of warmth and brotherhood.
Discordant sounds wear me out
like an eroded earth;
even the ticking of my footsteps
turns rapture from my holding.
like an eroded earth;
even the ticking of my footsteps
turns rapture from my holding.
And when injustice thrusts out
its hideous fist like a volcano,
It’s a heavy pang I feel on my chest
like a blacksmith’s blow,
because like ghosts,
I idealize a utopian world.
its hideous fist like a volcano,
It’s a heavy pang I feel on my chest
like a blacksmith’s blow,
because like ghosts,
I idealize a utopian world.
Thus, if this claim
of me being a ghost
survives truth’s stringent test,
then there are more ghosts on our streets
who are oblivious of their state.
of me being a ghost
survives truth’s stringent test,
then there are more ghosts on our streets
who are oblivious of their state.
