Poetry

‘Will the real Ailill show his face, please?
imposters such as these
leave me ill at ease.’
 
‘Sorry my friend, but Ailill died long ago
of his former glory only bones are left to show.’
 
‘Then how can these imposters claim
to be what they are not?
Have they given much thought to the costs
of their claims and the false path                                  
upon which they walk?’
 
‘Maybe there is a reason for their mask
and their self-effacing act?’
 
‘But why is there this need to lie,
to hide behind false eyes,
true selves kept out of the limelight?’
 
‘I presume you are under the assumption
that you are real whereas they are not?
If so, how do you carry out your daily tasks?
Do you tell the truth, or do you act?
 
In this event,
how are they different
from the rest of humanity
hiding behind its mask of vanity?
 
Don’t we all have secret lives,
hidden motives and drives?
Acting out roles behind social masks,
wearing more than one hat?
 
Also, if we are all created in the image of a higher man,

how can we claim to be masters of this, our dance?
Therefore, who are we to deny these imposters their claim

to a pen name,  when
we play the same games?’
 
‘But why hide behind the image of somebody else,
when they can claim fame for themselves?’
 
 ‘Maybe it is due
to their philosophy,
does it lend them the strength of creativity?’
 
‘But what about the double bind created within
themselves,
when hiding behind the image of somebody else?’
 
‘Yes, I understand the questions that have been advanced,

but could it be that these poets are in tune with a
different plan?’
 
‘Why, what do you mean?’
 
‘To answer that, we must ask,
what is creativity?
 
Does it come from ourselves?
Is it a gift of something else,
emanating from another place,
Given freely to be used wisely?
 
Or do its fruits come with a price tag,
of which we can brag?
Your reaction to this question,
determines your actions,
the ways you use your mask
to carry out your daily tasks’
 
 ‘So let me ask,
is this your defense of the mask
these poets wear in order to share
their verse and image laden words?
How can you base your premise
upon this circular reasoning nonsense?’
 
‘You think life to be rational?
Haven’t we already shown
that we wear the mask,
caught up within our act
accepting consensus reality,
and the absurdity of its banalities?’
 
‘I guess so’
 
‘Then out of life, what do you hope to gain?
Fame? Your name chiseled into stone,
A chance to sit on a throne?
Or do you seek to change the games that we play,
games that estrange us from each other,
and Gaia, our earth mother?
 
For a mask can either be used
in the service of inner truths,
or to hide behind
self serving lies.
 
The proper question is not, who is real,
or who wears a mask.
 
Instead, it is what do each of us do
with the role in which we are cast.
For if it is given that life is a comedy,
with us deluded by illusion, no reality,
 
then should we give in
to cynic narcissism,
ethereal mysticism?
 
Could there be a middle way,
to see life as play?
 
To the poet, creativity is the highest pursuit,
in his quest to bear fruit to the melody of the lute,
a follower of a different drum, seeking outcomes
that are not the same as his fellow man,
his way is a different way within this eternal dance.
 
For it is art which speaks to the poets heart
and to his self, he gives no regards
sacrificing his identity
as a gift to the muse of creativity
in honor of what she has given
as a token of his payment
for the visions that she has lent.
 
It is pain that leads them to embark on this way,
this way of the heart.
 
Seeing life from the bottom of the well
makes one cherish the glory that was once beheld
for hard times makes a heart wise.
 
Setting eyes upon the first blush of a new dawn,
lends the strength to carry on,
with the tasks as given.
 
Remembrance of life’s inner rhythms
in a comedy without end,
each moment,
merely a new beginning. ‘